DC 01: Superman, Earth's First Hero
by byronthedeadpoet
Summary: The origins and early years of the Man of Steel and his introduction to the world at large.
1. Chapter 1: Final Day

Jor-El of Krypton was out of time. As he stood before the crystalline terminal, he watched as the information slid through the air before him. He thought he was prepared for the worst, but actually knowing was far more difficult than he had imagined. His society, his planet, everyone he knew and everything he valued was doomed. It was over. Krypton was lost.

He looked over the information one more time. When he had first laid eyes upon the glyphs, he couldn't understand it. The geothermal energy that had powered the Kryptonian race for countless generations, millennium after millennium, had begun to deplete exponentially in a very brief interval of time. If the source was gone, Kryptonian scientists still would have had enough power in reserves to find a solution, an alternative, before the planet was completely reclaimed by the crystalline ice that covered its surface. However, if Jor-El's calculations were correct, then the geothermal energy was not gone; it was stoppered. The energy that normally escaped the planet's core was now being held within its depths, and though his calculations could not be precise without further study of the core itself, the planet had perhaps a few short planetary rotations left before that energy could no longer be contained, before it would be released cataclysmically, bringing about the end of his world.

He reread the data, look for causalities, and with each passing read, it became apparent to Jor-El that only one thing was for certain. There was absolutely no chance that this phenomena was natural. It was criminal, sabotage, genocide, an act so heinous that no word had yet been conceived of to describe it. And there was only one individual that Jor-El knew who could be responsible.

Jor-El left his lab, not bothering to even acknowledge the worried looks on his aids' and colleagues' faces. He entered a transport, and while he loathed using the time and energy it would take to travel such a distance, he needed to be there when he confronted the destroyer of his people.

The fortress of the House of Zod was a dark structure, a menacing crown of jagged obsidian, speaking of both royalty and barbarism. Though the House of Zod was once a thriving and respected noble name, the recent generations had taken a turn for the worst. Their politicking had become brutal, their social habits unsophisticated, their tastes insatiable and unsavory. Now, standing unguarded and seemingly deserted, the House would not have lasted much longer even without the planet's looming destruction.

The transport landed and Jor-El headed into the main greeting hall, a massive room surrounded by imposing excuses for artwork. His distaste for this particular fortress was second only to his distaste for the man who called it his home. As Jor-El crossed the threshold to stand in the traditional place as the received, his single utterance resounded throughout the echoing, empty halls, "Zod!"

The man in question appeared swiftly, as though he had been almost diligently waiting for Jor-El's arrival just outside the greeting hall. He walked to the end of the House's greeting dais, flanked by two followers, his scientific adviser Jax-Ur, and his mistress Faora.

"At last, you have come before me, Jor-El," Zod said, his tone cordial, his expression malicious. "You have discovered the final pieces, as I knew you would. Just as I knew that you would come yourself, full of pompous self-importance. What last words would you speak on the final day of this fortress?"

"Fortress?" Jor-El retorted. "Do you not mean this House? All Houses? This planet? By the gifts of Rao, how could you do this?! Why?"

Zod smiled, a truly mirthless and superior smile, "Ascension."

Jor-El felt as though the destruction of the planet had just occurred, as though the ground had vanished from beneath his feet.

"You cannot!" Jor-El exclaimed. "You have neither the knowledge nor the resources to leave Krypton, let alone travel to the nearest inhabitable planet with the required sun. But even if you did, what point would there be in annihilating Krypton?"

Zod bowed his head, true bereavement in his face, "My reasoning was two-fold; firstly, with Krypton destroyed, there will be no chance that anyone will ever rival me and my lieutenants. Secondly, I do follow the teachings of Rao, and I know that there must be balance in all things."

Jor-El could not help but be infuriated, "You are buying your way to power with the lives of every man, woman, and child on this world? You wish to pay your way to godhood on the blood of every other Kryptonian in existence? This is folly, Zod! If you know the teachings of Rao, then you know that real power cannot be taken; it must be given. You would know that setting yourself above your fellow beings will only lead to your downfall. How can you claim to follow the teachings of Rao and still think that anything is worth this much death and sadness?"

Zod was unfazed, "When my plan succeeds, I will be powerful enough that I might one day meet Rao. When that day comes, I will discuss the morally of my actions with him."

Jor-El could not believe his senses. He prayed for Rao to give him strength, "By Rao's Star, how do you plan on relocating yourself onto a planet with such a young, strong sun? The nearest is millions of light years away."

Zod smiled at his own genius, "We will imprison ourselves."

"The Phantom Zone," Jor-El said, feeling ill. The extra-dimensional space that he himself had discovered was the perfect haven. While an individual within the Phantom Zone could still perceive time, that individual would be in continuous, unaltered stasis. All Zod and his lieutenants would only have to wait until some other alien race was advanced enough to remove them from the Zone. They could be anywhere in the universe, and if the race had a yellow son, Zod would achieve his end. It was a risky endeavor, no doubt one that required a considerable degree of faith.

"I will stop you," Jor-El said defiantly.

Zod snorted, "You can not. I have great respect for the House of El, which is why I am offering you this one chance. Since I put my plan into action, I have had every Phantom Zone Projector on Krypton but one sabotaged. Pledge your allegiance to me, and I will spare your life. Come."

Walking to the extreme edge of the dais, setting his stance, one hand on his hip, the other palm down before him, Zod stood with deep gratification as he said, "Kneel before Zod."

Jor-El stood tall, "Never."

Zod's look of anger could have burned, "This is no time for heroics, Jor of the House of El. The end is nigh."

As though by sheer will, a display appeared in the air above the three Kryptonians on the dais, and Jor-El almost lost his footing. So little time was left, far less than he had guessed; the length of a casual meal, or the length of a short walk before bed. What could he do with so little time? If he was to have the chance to save one life, any life, he knew what he must do.

He turned and ran.

"There is no time!" Zod shouted. "You can do nothing! Come! Kneel before Zod! You will bow down before me, Jor-El!"

Jor-El entered the transport, taking out his personal crystal, he broke through the digital defenses around the House of Zod in seconds and captured time that Krypton had left. He might just make it. He interfaced with the transport he was in, creating a new configuration in its memory banks. Drawing up all his knowledge and experience, he added all the properties and mechanisms to the configuration needed for an intergalactic journey, something that was considered illegal in all but the theoretical. He knew requisitioning the power it would take to fuel the transport would break still more Kryptonian Laws and would be noticed, but at this point, he had no other recourse. As it was, there would be little that the peacekeepers could do. He established a routine to charge the vessel but was only able to put the finishing touches on it before reaching his destination.

As he landed at his home, the last and most revered House of El, he brought the transport in through the entrance to his private laboratory. Once he had stepped out of it, he started the reconfiguration process, which converted it into a much smaller vessel. Without another thought, he collected three crystals from him personal terminal, containing the Book of Rao, the Complete Libraries of Krypton, and a blank crystal. He quickly programmed the blank with the traditional right of passage gift for a Kryptonian noble; he placed within the crystal the method and capability of replicating the House of El and imbued it with all the required energy to do so. After transferring the time Krypton had left to his personal terminal, he placed the three crystals along with his personal crystal into the vessel. Quickly circumventing Krypton's public power grid's security protocols, he established a conduit of energy into the vessel, drawing in all the power need for its long journey. Leaving the vessel to charge, he left his lab and entered the living area of his home.

"Lara?" he called, trying to keep the frantic tone from his voice.

"Here," he heard her call from the nursery. He entered without delay and was momentarily taken aback. His wife, Lara, stood, her back to him, the Red Sun, Rao's Star, setting over the white landscape that stretched out as far as the eye could see, holding their son, the cuing and burbling baby Kal-El. To Jor-El, there was no more beautiful sight in the universe, and he knew that he was looking upon it for the last time. He felt his strength wain and falter. He prayed to Rao, never feeling so forsaken.

"Jor-El," Lara sighed, her voice a balm and a blade in its beauty to his ears. "I thought you would be late tonight, trying to discover the cause of the geothermal anomaly. But... what is wrong?"

Jor-El hung his head, trying to breathe. How could he conceive of this, the end? How could he know that all he knew, all he truly valued, was about to end? How could he go on, finding the strength to do what must be done?

He felt Lara's hand upon his cheek, "Jor-El? What has happened?"

Jor-El found his will, and knew what must be done, "Zod."

Lara took a deep breath, her gaze unblinking, "Is there nothing that can be done?"

Jor-El looked into her eyes, "Krypton has seen its last sunrise."

She held Kal-El close to her breast, the baby quieting, "What can we do?"

"Lara," he said, feeling breathless, "I cannot in good conscience let our son meet his demise at the hand of such a power-thirsty madman. I have prepared the only solution that I know of; we must send Kal-El away."

Lara looked deeply distressed, but relented to her husband's knowledge and wisdom, "Explain."

"Zod has thought his plan through. He is planning to hide within the Phantom Zone with his two followers, and he has ensured that no other Kryptonians can join him there. His plan is well devised since the most likely planet to restore him to this universe orbits a yellow sun. It is because of this that I send our son to this planet, a planet called Earth."

Lara was shocked, "But, Jor-El, the laws? Rao's Mandates? How can you do this?"

Jor-El shook his head, "Legally, I cannot. But, I believe this is the path Rao has set before me. Kal-El will not be taking great power. I will be giving it to him."

"But, Jor-El," she said, the worry only a mother could possess upon her face, "he will be different, an outsider. He will be all alone."

"It will be a hard life," Jor-El agrees, "full of confusions and questions. I have supplied his vessel with all the knowledge I can grant him to help him on his quest. I must have faith in Rao, and faith that our son will be equal to the burden he must endure to live."

Laying hands upon his son, his one and only child, Jor-El stood with his wife, as they drunk him in, his presence and his existence, their best and greatest achievement, the culmination of their lives and unity.

"Come," Jor-El said. "There is little time."

Together, they carried their son, wide-eyed and almost solemn, forth to Jor-El's laboratory. As Lara placed the blanket wrapped infant into the vessel, Jor-El programmed in the vessel's course and assured himself that all the required power had been absorbed from the grid. Finally, he stood over his son.

"My son, Kal of the House of El, the last son of Krypton. I commit you to the stars, to rest upon a world as full of potential as you yourself. Those who people it are as capable of evil and compassion as you will be. Take heart in the knowledge that we send you forth with the faith that you will live and be a symbol of peace, an example of what potential lies in minds and hearts of all. Know that we will always be with you, our little Kal-El."

Then, taking his mantle and cape from off his shoulders, Jor-El laid them around his son as Lara placed her personal crystal with the others. The ground began to tremble around them, to shift, as the two stepped back from the vessel as it closed protectively around their son. Standing, embracing, they watched as the wall slid away. Before their tear-filled eyes, the vessel streaked off into the night sky. The ground continued to buck and tremble. Turning to his wife, Jor-El pressed his forehead to hers as the time on his terminal ran out. With a flash that rivaled the glow of Rao's Star, Krypton was no more.


	2. Chapter 2: Parenthood

Jonathan Kent didn't know how he had gotten so lucky. As he leaned back in his old pickup, the truck that had been his father's before him, he looked over at his wife. His wife! He still couldn't believe that she had chosen him, had married him. He was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet and he knew it. She sat in the seat beside him, her hair blowing out the open window, looking out at the sun setting before them as they drove back to the farm. His life felt perfect, but he knew there was one thing that Martha wanted to make it truly complete. The thought made Jonathan weak in the knees.

A child; the idea was something he had thought about, more or less, as much as the next man, but he was just not sure about it and Jonathan hated not being sure. He was sure when he decided to follow in his father's footsteps, continuing to work the land that had been in his family's name for over a hundred years. He had been sure when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Martha Clark, even though they hadn't known each other more than a year. But having a child felt so uncertain. He and his father had had their share of headbutting, of arguments that had almost resulted in him giving up the farm and his name, the things that he found so important these days. He couldn't be sure that going through the same thing all over again, willingly, was the right thing to do.

"Honey," Martha said warningly, and Jonathan looked up to see that he was starting to veer off the road a little. She couldn't help but smile, even if it was a little reproachful, knowing his eyes had been on her.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, correcting back into the lane.

"You've been quiet tonight," she said inquisitively. "Is everything okay?"

Jonathan chuckled, "I was going to say the same thing about you. You seem like you have been thinking some pretty deep thoughts."

Martha pressed her lips, and Jonathan realized that they had been thinking about the same thing, "I'm sorry, Martha. I know what you want, and it's not like I don't want to. I'm just..."

"Jonathan," she said, patiently. "It's alright. I understand. You don't feel ready. You just want what is best for the child we will raise, and I appreciate that. You are going to be a great father. I can wait."

"But," Jonathan said, almost gravely, "you don't want to. If you could have your way, you would be eight months pregnant this very moment."

She smirked at him, "Of course. But if you could have your way, you would be the perfect father, capable of teaching a daughter or son everything she or he would need to know in order to continue your family, our family's legacy."

Jonathan couldn't help but smile. She was right, as she often was. Alright; like she always was.

"We want the same thing," she said. "It's just the time frame we don't agree on. I already know you will be the best father for our child, and I am ready and willing to wait until you see that too."

There was a sudden flash of light, and a deep rumble, not loud, but the sort of sound that was felt more than heard. With the speed of a falling star, something shot across the sky, across the windshield, and with a huge start, Jonathan twisted the wheel and Martha screamed. The truck fishtailed, coming to a halt on the shoulder of the road.

"What was that, Jonathan?" Martha said sounding shaky.

"I don't know," he said, looking around. They were on the edge of Evan's Woods, not far from the creek that ran around the northern tip of the woods before sloping south. From where they had stopped, Jonathan could see a large amount of steam rising from the water.

Without a word, they both stepped out of the cab in unison, looking at the steam as it began to fade into the coming night. They crossed the street and moved down the shoulder, Martha moving faster, as they neared the creek.

"Martha," Jonathan called in caution, but she sped up rather than slowing down. He hurried to catch up to her. There, at the edge of the creek, was a... something. Jonathan had never seen anything like it. It looked like a large chunk of ice, about the size of a large wheel barrel, except that it was clearer, more transparent and seemed somehow warmer than any ice he had ever seen. It looked more like solid, unmoving water, and within it, he could see some ripples of red and blue. Before he could think to say more words of caution, Martha stepped up to it and put a hand upon it. The top seemed to melt away, as though it were opening, and suddenly, a sound that he never expected met his ears; the sound of a crying baby.

Martha bent and turned, and to his amazement, he saw she was holding the crying infant, wrapped in red and blue blankets. He watched in total awe as she rocked and quieted the baby, who was soon holding itself to her chest. It was a wondrous sight, one he had not expected to see for years, and something about it seemed to strike a cord within Jonathan Kent, something he had never felt before.

"It's a baby," Martha just kept saying over and over, and finally, "Where did he come from?"

As they watched, the thing that had held the baby seemed to transform, melting down until it was the size and shape of a small chest, changing into a solid looking matte gray material, almost like metal. It wasn't much larger than a loaf of bread, and while it was lighter than Jonathan would have thought possible. It was also completely seamless and appeared impossible to open.

"I don't think he is from anywhere around here," Jonathan said, feeling deeply moved somehow.

He looked over to see the baby smiling, his brilliant blue eyes lighting up, as he reached up and touched Martha's face. And at that moment, Jonathan knew that there were no lengths that she, nor he, wouldn't go to in order to protect this child. He stepped forward, placing a careful hand on the back of the little boy's head. He turned and looked up at Jonathan, cuing in wonder.

"Can we keep him?" Martha asked, pleading.

Jonathan smiled, "What are we going to call him?"

Martha looked around, "Evan?"

Jonathan frowned, "I don't think so. Hiram?"

Martha rolled her eyes, "I know. Why don't we use my maiden name?"

"Clark?" Jonathan said. "Clark Kent. I think it fits."

Martha hugged the smiling boy, "Me too."


	3. Chapter 3: Secret

"Clark!" Martha called, "Clark! Oh!"

She came around the corner of the house to find Clark standing there, as though he were waiting. She jumped, "Wow, honey. You scared me. Have you finished your chores?"

Clark smiled, "Of course, Ma. An hour ago."

"Oh," she said indulgently, "okay. Why don't you wash up? You don't want to be late for school."

He ran around into the house, and she followed as Jonathan came walking in from the barn.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Martha asked again. "This is the first parent-teacher conference we have ever had."

"Now, Martha," Jonathan started, "there is no reason for both of us to be there. I have a tractor with a busted fuel line and over forty feet of fencing that need replacing, on top of everything else I need to get done today. I know that this is important, but so is our livelihood. I will be sure to catch up with you about everything tonight."

"At least come in and have breakfast," she said. "Coffee is not enough."

He sighed grudgingly, "I put honey in it."

Martha chuckled at the absurdity of her husband, "And I am sure that made all the difference in the world. Come on."

After a solid breakfast of eggs, waffles, and a sausage, and Martha telling Clark several times not to eat so fast or he would choke, she was bustling him out to the truck and taking him to Smallville Elementary instead of him taking the bus. She took him to his class where she met with his teacher, Mrs. Baker.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Kent," she said, as Mrs. Adams took over for her, and she walked with Martha to the school's office. Martha was getting the impression that this was not a simple teacher's conference, which was redoubled when they entered a small conference room where Mr. Stark, the school's principal, was waiting.

"Please," he said, somewhat flatly, "have a seat, Mrs. Kent."

Martha sat, "I don't understand. Is Clark in some kind of trouble?"

"Well," Mr. Stark said, "I wouldn't exactly say that. It's just that... Clark has been displaying some unusual behavior."

"Really?" Martha asked, feeling concerned. "How so?"

"Well," Mrs. Baker said, sounding a little flustered, "he isn't really behaving like most of the boys his age. On the playground or in Phys Ed, he doesn't seem to want to participate in any of the games. He seems to lose or give up in every game. He spends almost all of his free time in class just sitting around, staring off into space."

"I see," said Martha. "And this is affecting his grades?"

"Actually," Mrs. Baker said, "no. He is doing surprisingly-"

"Frankly, Mrs. Kent," Mr. Stark interrupted, "your son seems to be an overly bright boy. There hasn't been a test we have given him that he hasn't completed with one hundred percent. It seems a little... too good to be true."

Martha started to feel angry, "Are you accusing my son of cheating?"

"No," Mrs. Baker said, looking reproachfully at the principal. "We are not. We have taken minor steps to make sure that he is not, including handwriting a few tests solely for him just before the children take them, and the results are conclusive. We are just worried that he may be... under stimulated here."

Martha finally understood, "You believe he needs more specialized education than this school can give him?"

"Yes," Mr. Stark said almost resentfully.

"I see," Martha said. "Well, this is something that I will have to discuss with my husband. Is there anything more?"

Mrs. Baker looked as though she wanted to say something more, but she just looked at Mr. Stark who shook his head and said, "No. That is all."

Martha thanked them for the conference and went into town to run a few errands. The chest of drawers they usually kept in the guest room had been taken to a local furniture shop to have one of its legs repair, which had mysteriously broken off. The owner was backed up and it wouldn't be ready for another few days. She visited with Nell and Lori Lang in their family flower shop before heading back to Smallville Elementary, just in time for lunch.

She wasn't sure why she wanted to talk to Clark before she had a chance to talk to Jonathan, but she had a feeling that there was something going on that Clark would only feel comfortable talking about with her first. She almost wasn't surprised when she walked into the cafeteria and found him waiting for her by the door.

She and Clark walked out into the school grounds and sat down under a large oak, while he ate his lunch. Before she could begin, Clark said, "Thanks for thinking I wasn't cheating, Ma."

Martha was at a complete loss. She looked over and saw that Clark looked rather nervous, a look she seldom saw on his young face. Her own worry was swept aside at the distress of her son, "What's wrong, honey?"

Clark looked at his sandwich, "I'm scared."

Martha put an arm around him, and she felt him barely shy away, but not as though he didn't want her to touch him; it was almost as though he was afraid to touch her.

"Hey, sweetie," she said, kindly. "It's okay. You know you can talk to me about anything."

Clark looked even more worried, "I'm your little boy, right?"

Martha felt her heart go out to her son, "Of course you are. Why would you even have to ask that?"

Now, Clark looked truly scared, "I would still be your little boy, even if I was different, right?"

Martha smiled, rubbing his back, "Oh, sweetheart, everyone is different. That isn't a big deal."

Clark shook his head, "I have never heard of anyone like me."

She smiled, "Of course not. You are my special little boy."

"I'm serious, Ma," he said, and something about it struck Martha. He seemed somehow much more mature than a boy of seven.

"Alright," she said, taking a more serious tone herself, "what do you mean?"

"I can... see... stuff..." he said, and Martha bent closer, "I'm sorry?"

Clark took a deep shuttering breath, "I can see things that no one else can."

"Like what?" Martha said, thinking of imaginary friends or spirits.

Clark looked over at the school, briefly, and said, "Right now, there are seven hundred and forty-eight people in the school. Twenty-seven are teachers, three are in the office, three hundred and sixty-seven girls and three hundred and eighty-one boys."

Martha stared blankly at him, "How do you know that?"

Clark looked both sheepish and worried, "I just counted."

What Clark was trying to say finally dawned on Martha, "You can see them?"

He fidgeted, "Yeah."

Martha took a few breaths, trying to think. She knew that Clark had never, not once in more than six years since they found him, lied to her. She knew there were only two options now; either he was lying, or he wasn't. Considering the singular way in which Clark had found his way into her and Jonathan's lives, she couldn't but believe him.

As soon as this thought entered her mind, Clark's expression changed to reluctant hope.

"You believe me," he said, almost in wonder.

She smiled, even if it was a little-unsettled smile, "I do."

Clark smiled, and though he looked hopeful, he was still worried.

"Is there more?" Martha asked.

He nodded, "I can hear stuff too. Lots of stuff. Bugs in the grass. Wind over the roof. Radios. Talking. Right now, Mr. Stark is talking to Mrs. Baker, worried that might tell you what I know."

Martha looked confused, "What do you know?"

Clark looked sheepish, "I sort have mentioned that I knew they have been doing a lot of kissing in the teacher's break room when no one else was around."

Martha couldn't help but laugh, "I am sure they would be worried about that."

Clark smiled a little.

"Why don't you try at sports?" Martha asked, curious now that she realized just how much of her son's life she had been missing.

Clark looked nervous again, "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"How could you?" Martha asked, trying to understand.

He looked at the ground, "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Martha bent forward to look at his face, "How much stronger?"

"Well," Clark murmured, "I don't know. I haven't found anything that was too heavy for me to lift yet. I think the heaviest thing I tried was the... tractor."

Martha suddenly understood just how hard this had been for her son. He had been alone in this, standing apart from the world, with the burden of this enormous secret, unable to tell anyone, afraid that people would fear him, would ostracize him, so worried that he might hurt someone, just by touching them, or accidentally angering them just because he knew the things that he knew.

Reaching out, she lifted him into her lap. He was rather heavier than the last time she held him, but she did so, stroking his back as she hugged him to her.

"I'm still your little boy, right?" he asked, hugging her as gently as he spoke, and her heart couldn't help but melt and break.

"You will always be," she said with tears in her eyes, "my boy, my special little boy."


	4. Chapter 4: Revelations

"Hey," the voice called, "hey, Clark!"

Clark turned to see the red-haired girl who had been his second shadow for the past nine years, "Hi, Lana. What's going on?"

He turned back towards the waiting buses and slowed his scuffling step so she could catch up, shakily adjusting his backpack on his stooped shoulders. As Lana walked up beside him, she smiling invitingly, "I was wondering if you had any plans tonight. Maybe we could grab a burger, catch a movie. My treat?"

Clark shrugged, hunching his already hunched shoulders, "I don't think Whitney would like that."

Lana's frowned, "And if I were asking you what he thought, that might be important. But I am not. He isn't my boyfriend, and he never will be."

Clark's lips pulled sideways in reluctance, "Lana, I really don't want any trouble with Whitney."

"Fine," Lana said with only slightly sarcastic enthusiasm. "Then I will come over to your place. We can hang out in the barn. It will be... great."

Clark sighed inwardly, but not at Lana. He sighed at Whitney, who had just been asking his friends if they had seen Lana, just as they walked around the corner of the school, and Whitney's heart rate accelerating drastically upon seeing them.

"He is going to get it this time," Whitney muttered so that only his friends, and Clark, could hear. "Hey! Kent!"

Clark turned, feigning surprise. Lana turned and looked angry.

"Whitney!" she cried. "Get out of here!"

"In a minute, babe," he said, and Clark hated what he knew was coming. Pushing passed Lana, Whitney and his two friends came right at Clark. Each grabbed one of his arms, and he fought back with an almost imperceptible amount of his true strength, jerking feebly against their grips. He watched as Whitney threw punch after punch into him, paying the utmost attention with all of his senses. With every blow, he curled into himself, pulled himself away, whipped his head around, having to time every movement perfectly so that Whitney's fists would still land and not break upon contact with Clark's body.

After four punches to his face and three to his gut, Clark pretended to crumple, falling to the ground where he took two more kicks to the stomach.

"Stay away from my girl, Kent!" he shouted.

Lana was not impressed, "God, Whitney! I am not your girl. I wouldn't go out with you if you were the smartest, richest, hottest, most powerful, most desirable guy in the world! You aren't even half the man Clark is!"

"The bookworm?" Whitney scoffed. "All he does is write for the school newspaper, work on his dad's farm and get straight A's. He's a complete wimp."

Lana bent down and helped Clark to sit up, picking up his glasses and putting them back on his face, despite one of the lenses being cracked, "I would rather be with a wimp than someone who would pick on a wimp any day."

Clark felt his heart sink. He felt so... frustrated! There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. He just had to sit back and take it, every bit of it. He was just relieved that no one had noticed that he had no injuries.

"Come on, Whitney," one of his friends said. "Let's bail."

Clark continued to look dejected as he sat on the sidewalk, holding his ribs. As they finally walked away, he heard one of them say, "You know what was really weird? He didn't seem winded at all."

Clark rolled his eyes; that was something for him to remember for next time. And he knew there would be a next time. He couldn't get within five feet of Lana Lang without Whitney pounding on him. If once, just once, Clark was to let just one punch land, not even fight back, he knew that Whitney would never pick a fight with him again. But he understood why he couldn't do that. He had enough trouble hiding who he really was already. He knew everything that was going on in school, absolutely everything. Nothing, no detail escaped his eyes and ears. He knew who cheated on which test, who hooked up with who, who cut class, the contents of every passed note and cramped locker, every paper ever written, every vandal, every whispered secret, every unrequited crush, every conversation, every lie, everything. And yet, he had to spend every day as though he were deaf and blind.

But that was nothing when compared to his physical ability. He was faster, stronger, more resilient than anyone at school, anyone he had ever seen or heard of. Whitney was the Smallville High's best football player, but Clark could have beat him in every way imaginable, at every event they could contest in before Whitney could even blink. Clark could have been Smallville High's entire sports division, playing every role in every sport they played at once. He could be pitcher and catcher, quarterback and receiver, playing every member of every team, seemingly at once.

And yet, he could do nothing about it. No matter how much he longed to wipe that smug look off of Whitney's face, prove to the world who he was, he could never be himself. He knew what would happen if he did; fear, envy, mistrust, perhaps even greed and exploitation. He had to be a nobody, a footnote, an afterthought, as noticeable as a wall, as memorable as a passing cloud. And so far, it had worked, with one exception.

"What a jerk," Lana said, push her small self under his arm and trying to pull him to his feet. By now, he had had a lot of practice acting as though he was in pain, though his only frame of reference was emotional pain. He pretended to wince with every breath and moved even more reluctantly than usual. "Are you okay?"

Clark nodded, adjusting his glasses.

"Well," Lana said, trying to sound casual, "at least any trouble that he is gonna cause is done. How about that movie, if you are still up for it?"

Clark couldn't stand it. He shook his head, half at her and half in irritation. She liked him, clearly, but what was worse was that Clark liked her. But he knew that they couldn't be together. He couldn't be honest with her or draw that kind of attention to himself. He couldn't deal with Whitney on a regular basis or constantly hide who he was from the girl he cared for so much already. He couldn't even tell her why he couldn't tell her why.

"Look," he said, "I am going to go to the nurse and get an ice pack. Why don't you get to your bus?"

"No," she protested, full of concern that was all the harder for him to bear, "I'll come with you."

"I'm fine, Lana," he said, more firmly than he had ever spoken to her, but his voice still quavering. She looked hurt and didn't say another word as she ran for the bus. He limped along, and as soon as he was out of sight of everyone who saw the fight, he walked relatively normally. As soon as he was out of sight of everyone, he started to run.

Immediately, the world began to blur around him. He felt the strange almost sliding sensation as the air slid around him, as though his body were frictionless. He sped to the point that the world seemed to bend ever so slightly and colors shift as the spectrum he could usually see at began dilating as he traveled. He could see well past the infrared around his peripheries, the vague radio and radar transmission solidifying into something much more tangible. At the center of his vision, he could see deep into the ultraviolet, even occasionally catching the briefest glimpse of what he could only theorize was gamma radiation. At this vast speed, he covered the distance between the school and the farm in a matter of seconds. Every single one of his chores which would have taken an experience farm hand over three hours was done in less than a tenth that time.

"Careful, son," Jonathan said as Clark streaked in through the open barn door. "You're spooking the cows. What's wrong with you today? Hey, what happened to your glasses?"

Clark pulled them off and looked at them. With a few seconds of intense starring and concentration, the glass began to melt back together. A few careful rubs with his fingers and a bit of molding and the glasses were flawless.

"Whitney beat me up in school again today," Clark said more than a little bitterly.

"Oh, Clark," Johnathan said, walking up to his son and putting a hand on his shoulder. Even at sixteen and still growing, Clark was just over six feet tall, taller than Jonathan, taller than most of the boys at school, but he spent so much time slouching around that most thought he was about five nine. Here at home, in the company of his father, he could stand tall, if not proudly.

"I guess the glasses idea didn't help," Jonathan said.

"I think they do," said Clark, sliding them into his shirt pocket. "I mean, I like them. They work for me. It's just... it's frustrating, Pa."

Jonathan couldn't imagine what his son was going through. When Clark had first come to the Kents, Jonathan thought he knew what was going to be the hardest part about being a father; it was going to be nearly impossible to let Clark go through his own trials. It was a bad habit that he had picked up from his father before him. His father knew and understood the world so much better than he did, so with every trial that Jonathan had gone through, his father had come in and tried to help or take over or do it for him. It had driven Jonathan crazy, but as soon as he was a father himself, he understood the desire to do the same thing completely. He couldn't stand doing nothing, feeling so helpless.

But now, Jonathan felt even more powerless than he could ever expected, because his son was becoming a man so completely beyond imagination. Every day of Clark's life was a test, a practice run, a trial in infinite patience, self-control, self-awareness, and endurance. Jonathan could not even begin to know what it felt like to be his son, to walk around in a world where everything seemed as soft as tissue paper and play-dough. He could not understand what it was like to walk down a hallway, to be sure that if he were to misstep, put just a touch to much speed into a turn or a lean, he could break bones. He could not fathom the courage or responsibility it took just to be among people. He could not comprehend the dedication, the discipline it took to not only be in the world but to hide the exceptional nature his son possessed. He couldn't fathom having abilities so far beyond to scope of mortal men and not use them for fame, for personal gain or glory. And as inconceivable as all of that was to him, Jonathan had no idea how could ever feel more proud of his son.

"Now, Clark," Jonathan said, turning to walk beside him as they slowly cross the floor of the barn. "I may not know much about what its like to walk a mile in your shoes, but I do know how frustrating it can be to feel as though the world doesn't see or value you for who you really are. But, you don't need me to tell you that stepping up against a high school bully is not the right place to show the world your true colors. We both know that you know better, so why don't you tell me what is this really about."

Clark couldn't help but smile as he shook his head, "Lana."

Jonathan took a long deep breath, "Clark, now I know we talked about this before, and I know how much you like this girl and how much you would like to share yourself, your true self, with her-"

"I know I shouldn't, Pa," Clark said. "And I know you are just looking out for me."

Jonathan smiled almost sadly at his son, "No, Clark. That isn't what I was going to say. What I was going to say is that you are almost a man now, and you don't need me to tell you how to make your own life decisions. Just remember, that asking someone to accept you is not as easy as you may want it to be. It may take time. And, son, if you are going to do this, make sure it's not just because you want to impress the girl."

Clark looked into Jonathan's face, looking both surprised and a little overwhelmed.

"I'm sure, Pa," he said. And to his surprise, he heard her, and turn to see Lana, walking up the drive, not even bothering to drop her school things off at her home across the street. "She is on her way here now."

Jonathan looked the same direction his son was, at the impenetrable wall before them, shaking his head, "I'll send her up this way. Only if you are sure, son."

Clark walked up into the loft, where he often went for privacy. He listened as Jonathan headed down to the house, walked around it and met Lana as she was walking up the porch.

"Hi, Mr. Kent," she said, her tone, breathing, and heart rate indicating slightly flustered embarrassment. "I was wondering if I could wait here until Clark got home."

"He's already home," Jonathan said. "He is up in the barn, waiting for you. I'll take your things. Why don't you go on up?"

Clark stood, waiting for the somewhat surprised Lana as she walked up to the barn. Finally, she entered. Before she could say a word, he called, "Up here, Lana."

Against she was surprised, but her anxious emotional state quickly covered it up. She walked up to the loft, which was mostly empty except for a few odds and ends, farm equipment that was rarely used or tools that were broken but not so much that they couldn't be repaired as needed. She found Clark leaning against the half door that could be opened to push out hay.

"Hey," she said, sounding nervous, but an entirely different kind of nervous to the kind she was when she was talking to Jonathan. "I was wondering if we could talk."

Clark continued looking out over the fields. Lana continued as though he gave her an affirmative.

"Look, Clark. I can understand why you don't want to stand up to Whitney. I do. He would just be all macho and in your face even more, and I wouldn't want that and you wouldn't want that, and that would just be a real pain in the butt. I get it. But what I don't understand is, you like me, right? And I like you, I have practically been crushing on you since we were in preschool, and you are just this really nice guy and everything, and a good friend, and I don't want that to stop, and you don't want that to stop, so Whitney is going to find a way to pick on you anyways, so, the heck with it, why don't we just go out?"

Clark turned and looked at her. She was still pacing, not really paying attention to him.

"Okay, so I am a bit of a motor mouth and you are a bit of a wallflower. I mean, you write for the school paper and I am in yearbook; we are from two different worlds and it will never work, but it might, ya know? And I have been just hoping you will at least give us a shot, and every time I get near you, you just pull away, and its almost like..."

She turned towards him, looking at him, and slowly, a look of dawning shock spread across her face, "like... uh... like... wow."

Clark's intensely blue eyes, not defused and dulled by the lenses of his glasses, stared right back at hers. He pushed carefully back from the half door and stood up straight, something he hadn't done in front of anyone other than his parents in three years. Lana's eyes moved up, and up, "I... wow. When did... I don't... wow."

As Clark watched, she slowly began to dissolve into a small fit of giggles, and eventually muttered something about a seat and sat down against the barn wall. Clark moved to sit next to her, and again, he moved like he did at home, smoothly, efficiently. She stared at him, as much as she could with her wide-eyed, averted gaze, until he sat, after which she seemed hard press to meet his eyes. Finally, she looked him full in the face, and blurted out, "When did this happen?!"

When he spoke, his voice was even, measured, and resonant, not the quiet, slightly nervous mousy voice that was a cobbled together imitation of every other nervous student in Smallville High, "I'm sorry, Lana. I haven't been exactly myself around you lately."

Lana looked at him, into his pure, intense, almost unnaturally blue eyes, and felt as though she had never heard a more pronounced understatement.

"Well," she said, sounding a little fluttery, "I can understand why. Oh, wait. No, I can't. What the hell!?"

Clark couldn't help but smile, though he enjoyed it a little bit more when that smile spiked her heart rate, breathing rate, skin temperature, and dilated her eyes a little. He then dropped his voice, and the seriousness of his tone seemed to sober her instantly, "Lana, tell me something. If you found out that you were different, I mean seriously different from everyone else, what would you do? How would you act?"

Lana thought about it for a long moment, "How different are we talking?"

Clark frowned, "As different as different can be. So different that some people, well most people, would have trouble seeing you as a person when they found out."

Lana looked at him, "You're serious, aren't you?"

Clark seemed to look around, then listen, then he looked into Lana's eyes with his piercing blue ones, "Do you trust me?"

Lana considered. Clark had never done anything that she would consider threatening, and if he was dangerous, she realized that this front he was putting out was just him doing everything in his power to normal.

"Yes," she said, almost surprised that her voice was so firm.

Clark, watching her eyes the whole time, slid one arm along the wall behind her back, putting the other arm under her knees. Smoothly, easily, he stood, lifting her with ease of lifting a sheet of paper, so steadily that she would have felt motionless if not for the feel of the air against her skin and the pull of acceleration. He turned and walked to the half door. So quickly that Lana had no idea how he did it, the half door burst open, and he walked to the edge. Lana stared into his eyes, and his expression was completely reassuring. She seemed to relax, if only a little. And, with only a small involuntary gasp from Lana, he stepped out into the open air.

The two seemed to hang in the air, Lana trying to gain control of a lifetime of instincts that told her she was in serious danger. As they sank through the two stories of air that was between them and solid earth, Lana didn't feel him move at all. He didn't blink or falter or start. He seemed completely at ease, almost motionless in familiarity with the act of falling over twenty feet as though it was as commonplace as taking a step. Upon landing, he seemed to almost lazily bend his knees, just barely, and completely absorbed all the shock. He somehow performed the same action with his arms, somehow taking in all of her momentum and leaving her with no indication that she had decelerated so dramatically. Then, with a smooth and steady pace, he turned.

"Don't worry," he said. "You are safe with me."

And, without understanding or fear, she believed him.

Bending slightly, he pushed off the ground with the sound of intense impact. With a surge and a flurry of wind, Lana found that she was sailing through the air, in his arms, far higher than the roof of the barn. It felt like soaring, like flying, in a smooth and perfect ark, landing just as easily, if much more noisily, in front of the steps at Lana's house.

Lana was speechless for the first time since Clark had known her. He set her carefully on her feet, his face full of apprehension.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, his voice still firm.

"That was over four hundred feet," Lana said, shaking her head. After a long pause, she said, "I don't get it."

Clark was taken aback, "What don't you get?"

"Why are you hiding this?" she asked, still sounding awed.

"Lana," he said, sounding almost stern, "you know me better than anyone other than my parents. What would you do if you were walking down the street and you met a guy who could throw a full-sized car into orbit with one hand? How would that make you feel?"

Lana frowned, "A little freaked out, I guess."

Clark nodded, "Now, think what would happen if you found out that his skin was as unyielding as steel, that he could create heat from his eyes so intense he could melt rock, could hear everything all around him, could see everything, and was so fast that he could move without being seen."

Lana blinked, "I see your point, but you were speaking hypothetically, right?"

Clark smiled weakly.

"Right?" Lana asked again. "You were, right?"

"Are you freaking out?" Clark asked.

"No," Lana said sounding more and more frantic. "I'm not freaking out. What makes you think I am freaking out. I'm not freaking out. I am calm. I'm calm. I am completely calm!"

Clark stepped forward, but she pulled away. Clark stopped, staring at her. He knew the signs. The pose and pull of her muscles, the pacing of her breathing, the beating of her heart, the look in her eyes. She was afraid. There was a sudden, slight rush of wind, and Lana found that her bag and purse were set on the steps beside her, and Clark was gone.

"Wait," he heard her say from the loft, in the same exact spot, leaning in the exact same way as he had been when she first entered the barn. "Wait, Clark. I'm sorry."

Hours passed. Clark didn't move. Martha reminded him about dinner from the kitchen, speaking as though he were in the same room with her. He came in, ate his entire plate of food before Martha could ask him why he was eating so fast, and disappeared into his room. He heard Jonathan explain, but he ignored it, letting it become part of the background hum that he heard all the time. For the first time in almost ten years, he did his homework at normal speed. Late into the evening, he was dressed in his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants when he heard Lana say his name. She was sitting at the window of her room that faced his house.

"Clark. I want to talk to you. You don't have to say anything, just listen. God, what am I saying? Of course, you can't say anything. Look, I am really, really sorry. I didn't mean to wig out. It was just really hard, is really hard to wrap my head around everything. We aren't in Kansas anymore. Sorry. Had to. I understand if you want to just pretend like nothing happened or whatever. That's fine. If you ever want to talk, I'm here."

She turned off her light and went to bed. Clark stood for a long moment, his hand pressed to the wall that was closest to her house. He had never felt so far away from her, from human, nor had he ever believed so completely that this, so far from her, was where he ought to be.


	5. Chapter 5: Passing

"Man," said Pete as he and Clark walked out of their English Lit class, "would it kill you to get a B once in a while? You're killing the curve for the rest of us!"

Clark merely shrugged, but inwardly, he sighed. He knew what was coming. It had been over a week since the last time. She was predictable like that.

Pete and Clark walked to their lockers, and Clark kept his attention on the contents of his as he shifted books around.

"Hey, Pete," said Lana.

Her tone was even, calm, no sign of fear at all, and other than the few flutters in her heart rate that Clark could recognize as butterflies in the stomach nervousness, she was completely comfortable.

"Hey, Lana," said Pete. "Any plans this weekend?"

"Not so much," she said so pleasantly, Clark was sure that Pete didn't hear the slight wistfulness in her voice. "Chemistry is a harsh mistress. Going to get some studying done while I can. You?"

"I was thinking about going to the movies," he said, "but it's no fun to go by myself."

"Oh," she said. "Did you hear Alicia and Tim broke up? Maybe she will go with you."

"Maybe," said Pete, showing no sign of feeling as crestfallen as the first time she turned him down.

"Okay, well," she said, smiling, "see ya, Pete."

"Later," said Pete.

Gathering what books they would need for homework over the weekend, Pete and Clark headed to Pete's convertible.

"Seriously, Clark," Pete said incredulously as they entered the parking lot and couldn't be easily overheard. "Are you a monk?"

Clark barely glanced at him.

"Huh?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"For a smart guy, you really are an idiot," said Pete. "Or maybe you just can't see it, four-eyes."

"Don't be a jerk," said Clark defensively, laughing inwardly. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on!" said Pete as they tossed their book backs in the back, or rather he did and Clark set his in carefully.

"Lana comes and talks to me about once a week now," said Pete. "She only ever does it when you are there, and she has shot me down every single time I have asked her out. I _am_ an idiot and even _I_ know what she is after."

So, Pete had noticed too. He wasn't the first. Whitney was the first, but since they never actually spoke anymore, he hadn't come at Clark for it. Half a dozen girls had mentioned it in hushed gossip in the last month alone. It was starting to draw attention. Clark was going to have to do something about it, and soon.

He said his goodbyes to Pete as he dropped him off and went to do his chores at normal speed, as he did when he needed time to think, or after every time Lana said hi to Pete.

She hadn't spoken to him, Clark, in his presence since that day. For a while, she still talked to him, like she usually did, even though he wasn't anywhere around, and he liked it. He felt less alone that way and felt like maybe they could be friends still, but every time he recalled her fear and her recoiling from him, he knew that he would give almost anything not to feel that again, including giving up her company. She had quit talking to him, but this talking to Pete, giving him a chance with very little pressure, was new and not entirely helpful. He knew he couldn't do nothing anymore. His entire life was working at never drawing attention to himself, and every day that he let her keep acting interested in him and he did nothing was another chance for people to take notice.

Martha began walking slowly over to him where he was working. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Lana had come by, but she was walking down the end of their drive back home. Great, now he was getting it at home too.

"Lana came by to see you again," Martha said as Clark set another post of the fence he was rebuilding. "She wanted to know if you were doing anything for your birthday."

Clark pressed a nail into hard wood with his thumb.

"It has been over a year since your little falling out," Martha continued, "and she has been very patient. Don't you think it is time to give up the grudge?"

Clark popped the top on a paint can and grabbed a brush, suddenly impatient for his chores to be over if only to escape this conversation.

"I know, I know," Martha said, as though fulling in his side of the conversation for him, "It isn't a grudge, but I am sure it feels like one to her. She made one mistake, and now she feels like you two can't ever be friends. She just wants to talk to you."

Clark finished the fence and realized that he was running. From his chores, from this conversation, from Lana. He wanted so much for this to go away, but he knew it never would. He would have to face it eventually.

He turned to look at Martha, "Ma, it isn't that. She didn't make a mistake. I did. I shouldn't have told her."

Martha sighed. It was a heavy sigh, a sigh only a mother could heft. It was the sound of relief, of the satisfaction of her son finally, finally talking about his fears. She walked up to Clark and hugged him.

"Yes," she said, "you should have. I know you would take it back if you could, but you can't. That's how the past works. But you have to understand something, Clark; things in this world aren't neat. They're messy and chaotic and don't always go the way you want them to. You just have to keep trying and one day, things will work out, even if not exactly the way you expected. That is the great thing about life; there is ample opportunity to try again, to never give up. She isn't giving up on you. You should talk to her."

Clark hugged Martha, "Thanks, Ma."

She smiled, "I know I shouldn't push you, but some gentle nudging can't hurt. You're a man now."

Clark patted her shoulder, "I won't be eighteen until tomorrow."

She tilted her head to one side, "Eighteen is just a number, Clark. You are a man."

Clark turned his head towards Lana's house. She was now sitting in her room, calm, writing something at her desk.

 _Dear Clark,_ it read. _Happy Birthday. I know that it has been a long time since we have communicated directly, but I wanted you to know, I care about you. I don't know what you are or fully understand what your life is like, but I would like to. I want to be there for you because you are a good person, I know it. I want to be a part of your life, but that is completely up to you and only when you are ready. Believe it or not, but you are still my best friend, my most worthy friend. I miss you_

She stopped, crossed out that last bit and Clark looked away, could sense her embarrassment and her self-reproach. And then, he knew, beyond all reasonable doubt, why he had not spoken to her since that day.

"Ma," he said, looking at the ground. "It isn't that I am holding a grudge or that I feel ashamed for telling her; I think..."

He took a deep breath, "I am afraid of where it all might go. I do care about Lana, but I just have no idea how I could have a normal relationship with her."

Martha smiled, though a little sadly, "Clark, you spent so much of your life in a constant state of self-denial. You shouldn't deny yourself any chance to be happy, especially if you have a chance at something that is so close to having a normal life."

Clark was silent for a moment, working it though. He spent so much time wanting to appear normal, desiring to be normal. Now, there was a chance, a practically cliché excuse to have something ordinary, and he was letting it get away from him.

He chuckled to himself, at himself.

"I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" he asked rhetorically, looking at Martha.

She smiled, her face full of maternal warmth, "We all are Clark. It isn't really something you outgrow; you can figure out some stuff and if you are smart and lucky, you don't always keep making the same mistakes over and over, but that is the best we can hope-"

Clark had been so caught up with fixing the fence and talking to Martha and paying attention to Lana that he hadn't noticed it at first. It wasn't until Jonathan had said his name with gasping lips that Clark turned.

"Pa?" he said and was in the barn in less than a second.

Jonathan was down on his knees, clutching his arm. His heart was racing, but it didn't sound right, didn't beat right.

"Pa!" Clark yelled as he collapsed. Jonathan didn't touch the ground as Clark caught him up.

"Somebody help me!" he yelled into the emergency room a second later as he carried Jonathan through the doors. Nurses came forward immediately, leaving Clark to stand and watch and listen. They took Jonathan to a bed, gave him injections, and had to resuscitate him one, two, three, four times. By the time they were halfway through the fourth, Martha arrived.

Clark stood in blank disbelief, tears on his cheek, watching his father fight for his life, fight harder than Clark thought he himself could ever fight for anything, but his heart was not strong enough. Finally, they got Jonathan as stable as they could, but Clark could hear that it was only a matter of time, and not much of it, before it would all be over.

"Clark," Jonathan said as the nurses and doctors made plans, prepared ideas that seemed pointless and fruitless to Clark. "Son, come here."

Clark was at his bedside immediately, Martha beside him.

"Time capsule," Jonathan said, and Clark knew what he meant. The time capsule was bury in the barn, and they were going open it tomorrow for his birthday. Clark nodded.

"I love you, Son," he said. "I'm so proud of you. Martha, I-"

The monitor flatlined, and the medical team went to work again. But this time, there was no desired result, no renewed beating, no return to normalcy. They continued long after Clark knew it was far, far too late.

Everything was a blur, as though Clark were running flat out as fast as he could, something he had never done in his entire life. He didn't remember doing much of anything; he just seemed to find himself in strange situations, like standing by a doctor, wondering the side of an unknown road, sitting on the swing on Lana's front porch in the middle of the night, in a funeral home, standing on the barn roof, sitting on the edge of Sander's Gorge, halfway through a chore that he seemed sure he had already done. Finally, he found himself in the living room of the farm, wearing a black suit, and Martha said, "It's time, Clark."

It was a small funeral. A number of local farmers and friends, some old high school football teammates, a few members of Jonathan's extended family who hadn't been a part of his life except in name. There wasn't any fanfare or extended eulogizing or the like. The priest gave his benediction, guests gave their condolences, and Clark felt everything and nothing at all. He stayed until it was over until his Pa was lowered into the ground and buried and was as laid to rest as anyone could be. He walked home with heavy feet and an even heavier heart. He was turning down his driveway when he felt a hand on his arm.

He turned and found Lana standing there, wearing a black dress. He didn't even remember seeing her at the funeral. She looked so entirely sympathetic that Clark finally broke down. For the first time ever, he fell, his knees hitting the drive hard. Lana made a sound of deep compassion as she came forward, kneeling and putting her arms around him, holding him. Within moments, Clark felt Martha's arms join Lana's, and the two held him as his body shook with grief and loss.


	6. Chapter 6: Answers and Question

Clark felt like he hadn't slept in days. He couldn't remember sleeping, so maybe he hadn't. It was very early morning, even by a farmer's standard, and he was sitting on his bed, trying to conceptualize what continuing meant, trying to see past that moment, even that very second, but was failing. He couldn't see how anything could change, how anything could break the stasis that his Pa's death had left him in, when he heard it.

It came to him like a sudden and subtle awareness, like stumbling upon an unexpected notion that had seeped in to his train of thought. It was a sound, unlike any sound he had ever heard. It was deep, basal, in a range of sound where he normal didn't hear anything. But what was more telling was that he couldn't hear the tell tale edges of the sound dropping of, the trialing off sound that told of its dissipating nature. This sound was as loud here as it was at the source, and was not getting quieter as the tone traveled further away from it.

With some trial and error, Clark was finally able to discern the direction, and realized that it was coming from under the barn. He looked, and discovered that it must be coming from the time capsule. Despite the early hour, he headed out to the barn and quickly unearthed it.

Clark had always been largely curious about the time capsule, especially since it contained a small box of some kind of metal he had never seen before. If that hadn't been interesting enough, he discovered that he couldn't see through it at all. He had no idea what was inside.

In a matter of moments, the time capsule was exposed. It was an old footlocker that Jonathan had chosen, which had once belonged to Clark's grandfather. Inside he found some blankets of red and blue. The material they were made from was dense, some kind of cloth that seemed to be woven together on the atomic level. Clark parted them to find the matte gray metal box that was wrapped in the blankets. Upon touching the box, the tonal sound coming from it stopped, and a seam appeared around the upper surface. It opened, revealing billowing red fabric, identical to the fabric the blankets were made out of. Lifting the fabric, he found that it was connected to some kind of pentagonal shaped section of cloth, with what looked like a large red S backed with gold. He discovered the cloth was a cape, and as he lifted it from the box, the box began to change. It converted itself into what looked like a belt, made of golden metal. Slid into several sockets in the belt were several nearly cylindrical precious looking crystals, one tinted blue, one yellow, one red, one white, and one nearly completely clear. Without really thinking, Clark attached the belt to his waist. It fit perfectly.

As he tried, he realized that all but one of the crystals would not come loose from the belt. He was not prepared to try harder, for fear of breaking them. The clear one that did come free felt light in his grip, and seemed to hint a faint pressure upon his fingers every time he started to point it closer to north. It was almost as though it was guiding him.

Clark thought about the situation for a long moment. Any reason for him to stay on the farm seemed so small in his grief, but he knew that no matter how disconnected he felt from the world in the wake of his Pa's death, he could not follow the crystal, in his own mind leave the farm indefinitely, without saying goodbye to his Ma.

Martha woke that morning feeling the lose of Jonathan just as poignantly as the first morning after his death. She felt the lack of his weight beside her on the bed, the lack of body warmth, and felt the world was a sadder, emptier place because of it. But today, something was even more different. The house seemed emptier still, quieter somehow, and she was suddenly so frightened. She leaped out of bed, throw on a rob and went to Clark's room. The door was open and the room was empty. She walked the house, finding no sign that he was there. Finally, she decided to search the farm, but as soon as she walked out the door, she saw him. He was standing at the edge of the property, leaning against the fence beside the road. He had on a pair of jeans, a white cotton shirt, a flannel over shirt, and Jonathan's tan coat. He had a pack slung over one shoulder, and Martha knew that the day she had known was coming for years, had almost superstitiously avoided thinking about, was here at last.

She walked, barefooted, hair uncombed, still in her night things, to stand beside her son in the early morning light, the sun just creeping over the horizon. He looked out into the sky as though watching the clouds, waiting until she was at his side. Before he could say anything, Martha said, "Won't you have some breakfast before you go?"

The breath that Clark had taken to speak came out in a nearly soundless chuckle, "I'm fine, Ma. Thanks anyways."

There was a short pause, and then she said, "Thank you for saying goodbye, Clark. I would have understood if you hadn't, but I appreciate that you did."

Clark turned, "I know, Ma. I just... I have to go now. I don't know how long I will be gone or when I will be coming back. All I know is that I won't be the same person if and when I return."

She smiled, almost capable of keeping the sadness out of her eyes, "Don't be silly Clark. You will come back, and no matter what, you will always be my little boy."

Clark hugged her, "I love you, Ma."

She patted his back, even though she was practically having to reach above her head to do it.

"I love you, Clark," she said, and he turned, and with a breath of wind and an eddy of dust, he was gone.

Clark had never tried to run so fast in his life. He could trace every radio waves and he could make out every gamma ray in detail, his normal vision a tight ring somewhere in the mid-range of his sight. Within seconds, he was farther from home than he could ever remember being. Taking the crystal from the belt under his shirt as he ran, he let it guide him, over the hills and highways, through the woods and cities, under bridges and sky, until he came to water. He didn't stop, almost instinctively knowing what would happen, and he continued without pause, running over the surface of the water as staggering geyser exploding upwards after every footfall. Within moments, he was running over ice, and found himself coming to a stop, encouraged by the crystal, in a seemingly empty and relatively flatter area of icy tundra.

As he looked at the crystal in his hand, instinct or intuition seemed to take over, and he hurled the crystal into the ice before him. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen, but then the crystal sank beneath the ice, and there was a low rumbling. With a surge of light and movement, the frozen ground seemed to break apart before Clark, as massive ice like structures grow diagonally upwards and outwards, creating a crystalline structure of interlocking, crisscrossed beams of clear crystal. As unusual as the structure was, it made a certain kind of sense to Clark, and he was able to find the entrance and the way inside without the need of any superfluous movements.

He found his way into a large room that sunk downwards rather than upwards, with a protrusion of crystal extending outwards into open air. As he walked to the edge of the protrusion, he felt the need to remove the belt. Placing it upon the crystal before him, he watched as what looked like some kind of crystal podium grew upwards, leaving the belt hanging over one side as the crystals that had been held by it were shifted into formfitting indentation that held them fast. A final indentation was empty at the top of the podium.

Clark stepped forward, taking the blue crystal from its recess. He set it into the central niche, and as it slid into place, a shaft of light appeared, surrounding the podium and Clark both. Symbols began to appear on the inner edge of the shaft, sliding around and up. At first, Clark could make nothing of them, but slowly, as he studied them a great speed, they seemed to make a certain sense, just as the design of the structure made sense to him. Finally, he was able to read them, "Speak, holder of Jor-El's crystal, the following word: Krypton."

"Krypton?" Clark whispered, and the column of light vanished. Standing there, hanging in the air as though floating, was a man. There was no doubt in Clark's mind that this man was his biological father. He was Clark in appearance, though with sharper features and jet white hair. He wore garments of blue and red, with the same pentagonal red and gold S upon his chest. His expression was soft and kindly.

"Hello, my son," he said, which surprised Clark because he wasn't speaking any language he had ever heard and because Clark understood him perfectly. "I am sure this was somewhat unexpected. As you must have guessed, I was your father. My name was Jor-El, and I was a scientist on a planet known as Krypton. My wife, your mother's name was Lara. Upon your birth, we named you Kal-El, Kal of the House of El, now the last son of Krypton."

Clark realized that he hadn't blinked or breathed for quiet some time. His greatest fear and deepest unvoiced suspicion had been realized. He knew that he was different, knew that he was an outsider, but it had always been deeper than that, more extreme somehow. He knew that he didn't belong, that he was somehow more than human, but now he knew that he wasn't human. He wasn't even from Earth. He was an alien. He was from another planet. He was what he always feared to be; so separated from the people of this world that he would never, could never, truly be a part of it.

"My son," Jor-El said, his voice kind, "I am sure that this has been a tremendous shock. Please. Speak."

Clark didn't know what to do, what to say. Suddenly, he realized that he was speaking with his father, his biological father, and all the questions that he always wanted to know spilled out of him, though they were now tinged with new knowledge.

"What happened to Krypton? Why did you send me away? Didn't you want me? Why can I do such miraculous things? What is this place? Why didn't to tell me all of this sooner?"

Jor-El seemed to become very still. There was flash from the podium console, and a blue light linked down with the white crystal, and suddenly there stood a second figure before Clark, hanging in the air beside Jor-El.

"Lara," Clark said, his hand reaching out, then falling.

His biological mother's eyes are filled with tears, but her smile was broad and genuine, "My son. I have missed you. I can't express how truly sorry I am not to have been a part of your life until now, to never be a part of your life the way I should have. If it had been possible otherwise, we would have done so, but it was not. Krypton was destroyed. We were casualties of its destruction, and we had no choice but to send you away. The burdens of a lost world were too heavy a load to set up the shoulders of a child, even one as strong as you. Forgive us for wanting you to grow without that weight in your heart."

"Our race," Jor-El continued, "has many difference from humans. The most significant difference is our ability to absorb and use light from a yellow sun with exponential results. Upon Earth, you will be as a god amount men, capable of feats and abilities beyond belief. Using these gifts, in any form, will force your true nature and character to light. We will be here for you, in this place, a replica of the House of El, where we will give you all the guidance and wisdom that we and our world have to offer, but ultimately, the choice is yours."

Clark, took a deep breath. He knew what his father meant. His powers gave him the chance to do anything, be anything. He could be the worlds richest man, its most unstoppable conqueror, its most famous celebrity, its most envied individual. He could be any of those things, but all he really wanted to be was Clark Kent.

He raised his eyes from the crystals before him, "Tell me everything."


	7. Chapter 7: Together and Apart

Clark had not moved for what felt like weeks, but in actuality, it was longer. He had pushed his body farther than he ever had. He had never gone so long without food or rest. He simply stood, gazing upon the world that was his, the home he could never touch, drinking in every detail.

He had set out from the farm to find answers, to find something that he hoped would fill the void of Jonathan's passing, but instead, he had simply found more questions and felt less connected to the world than he ever had before. Finally, he picked up the white crystal and fit it into place.

Lara came into being, hanging in the air before him, her beauty and tenderness so hard for Clark to bare, even after all he had endured.

"My son," she said, clutching her clenched fists to her chest as though to keep the memory of the tiny baby he had been pressed to her heart. "You look so bereft. What is troubling you?"

Clark hung his head, the words of his home-world still feeling a bit foreign on his lips, "Mother... I don't know what to do. My Pa, the man who found me and raised me on Earth, has died. I have learned of Krypton, but it is a world destroyed, and you and Father are gone. I went from losing one parent to losing three, and an entire world, an entire life. I have no world in which I can be a part, no place to be myself. I am alone."

Lara's eyes filed with sparkling tears, "Oh Kal-El. Grief is not always an easy thing to bare. Some people are given so much time to live their lives, and others are less, with no reason nor consideration for what you or I might like or want. However, while you can't decide how long anyone might get, you can choose what you will do with this knowledge. You expected more time with this man, but in truth, you were only to have what you had. You really have lost nothing."

Clark wanted to argue, to deny this, but so tire was he, so long had he stood there, he couldn't but listen to her words.

"He changed your life," she went on. "He has stood with you through many trials and has had a profound and irrevocable affect on who you are and who you will be. Nothing will ever take that away from you, my son, not even his death. You can, of course choose to be destroyed by his lose, and lose your life along with his, but is that truly what you want?"

Clark considered his life for a long moment. He didn't know what he wanted to do with himself. He never really gave it any real thought. His plans had been to graduate from High School, then college, support the farm, either on it or off it. He liked writing, but that wasn't enough. He had never figured out the detail and imagined that they would work themselves out. He had expected his Pa's counsel in that, and now, without him here, Clark was forced to face an almost frightening truth.

"Without my Pa here, I really don't know who I am," he said, feeling somehow awed by that fact.

She chuckled, sound very young, "You aren't supposed to know, my son. Your Pa didn't know either. Even one as powerful as you cannot truly understand who they are, and it would be wrong to expect yourself to know. Simply live your life. If what you are doing makes you happy, continue. If it does not, do something else. There is no way of living."

Clark thought about his life. He felt as thought his life so far had been marked by limitation, preventing him from doing anything he was really capable of. His actions had been set by what he could not do, not by what he wanted to do. Now was the time for him to try, to walk in a mile in his own shoes, trying to live as he never had, independent, free to do as he willed. He wasn't sure what the future would bring, but his mother was correct. He could not deny his life. He needed to live it.

"Thank you, Mother," Clark said, and turning, he slipped his pack onto his shoulder and prepared himself for the long road ahead.


	8. Chapter 8: Icon

Martha sat at the desk facing the front of the farmhouse, the windows opened to let in the fresh air and sun's warmth. While the day was a fine one, the books she was leaning over were keeping her in a dire mood. The farm was failing.

Since Clark had left almost seven years ago, he had sent a postcards from time to time, letting her know that he was doing well and that he didn't know when he would be home. Martha was appreciative; it was hard to keep the farm running by herself. It had always paid for itself, with just enough to pay the farm hands to keep the place running. But hands were short this year and without money or help soon, she would lose the most important possession she had, the last connection she still had to Jonathan.

With the windows wide open, she could hear the footsteps long before they reached the front door. She looked up and saw Lana walking towards the barn, her work gloves and boots on, a toolbox in her hand. Martha smiled and sighed, in equal parts exasperation and relief. Lana didn't bother coming up to the house these days until after her work was done, refusing Martha any opportunity to turn her away.

Bowing her head, she said aloud, "Clark, I don't know what to do. We need help. The farm is floundering. I'm not sure how we are going to make it this year. Lana has been helping out around here. She still lives across the street, working in the flower shop, and spending the rest of her free time here. I've told her constantly to go out and have a life, but she never does. The truth is, I need all the help I can get. I wish you could-"

"Ma," he said.

Martha froze. She turned, very slowly, and found a man standing in her living room. He was tall, noticeably over six feet. His black hair curled behind his ears. He was largely muscular, wearing simple clothing and a tan coat, an old pack over one shoulder. His face was covered in stubble and his kine blue eyes shown with a kindness and a maturity that spoke of a man much older than his mid-twenties.

"Oh, Clark," Martha cried and was soon held tightly by her large son, crying for all the years she had missed him. She cried herself out, and he set her light down at the kitchen table and made her tea in a matter of seconds. Setting the steaming mug before her, he sat beside her, his hand unable to lose itself from her grip.

"I came as soon as I heard," he said, his voice deep and firm. "How bad is it?"

Martha looked at him with a watery smile, "Heard? Where were you?"

Clark smiled sheepishly. "Australia. There was an accident in a coal mine. Some explosives went off unexpectedly. No one was killed, but they needed help. I was just finishing up and making sure there was no evidence that I had been there when I heard you talking about the farm and came as quickly as I could."

Martha's mouth fell open, "Well... That is quite some way. What have you been doing?"

Clark retrieved his pack from the living room, "Mostly, I have been trying to keep a low profile whenever I can, but it isn't always that simple. I have been doing a really good job, all things considered, but when I don't..."

He pulled out a binder filled with newspaper clippings, some of them years old. They were not all in English. Martha recognized French and Spanish, and what might be German, but some were from Asia and what looked like Africa. The stories were all the same; some accident or natural disaster had occurred and been averted through unbelievable means. There was even a blurry photo in one story of a man, who was unmistakably Clark, leaping from a seven-story building to an adjacent building with a child under each arm. It was too dark with the smoke to make out much, but Martha could recognize his posture.

"You have been helping people," she said, sounding very proud.

"I have been learning about the world," Clark said, sounding like a much older man. "I have circled the globe almost a hundred times. I have studied every language and observed every culture that I could. And I have learned that the world is in trouble. People fight and kill, tens of thousands die every day from starvation, they lie, cheat, steal, and oppress their fellow man. But the greatest misfortune of all is that they do not stop it. This world, this planet is teetering on the brink, and it could go either way. I want to help it go the right way. That means no more hiding. Sometime soon, the world is going to see and know what I am capable of."

Martha felt overwhelmed. She knew that Clark was meant for great things, but she could not see how he could be capable of changing the world.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Well, Ma," he said, looking around the room and at his home, "I can't do it as just a farm boy from Kansas, now can I?"

Martha huffed almost indigently, "There is nothing wrong with being a Kansas farm boy. I married one, you know."

Clark smiled, "I know that, but if I am going to change the world, I can't do it as just a man. I have to do it as something more. I have to be an idea, an ideal, something that no one in the world can argue with; I need to become a hero."

Martha understood, "And you can't just be some farm boy and expect everyone to take you seriously."

Clark nodded, "But I don't see how I can. I mean, sure, I can do everything that it takes to be a hero. I can save people from burning buildings and stop crimes and help or prevent natural disasters, but how do I be more than just a man?"

Martha put her hand on Clark's and he looked over at her as she said, "You already are. We just need to make that clear to everyone who sees you."

Clark smiled again, this time in gentle exasperation, "And how do I do that, exactly?"

Martha slid her glasses up her nose, "By looking the part."

Clark knew his Ma well and knew that she was scheming. She went to her desk and started rifling around for something, and he knew that it would be best to let her finish what she was thinking before interrupting. So, Clark made himself presentable.

He went up to his room and found that his closet had been stocked with many items that belonged to his dad. Some of the shirts sort of fit him, and after a quick shower, he did a quick unpack in his room. Taking the worn piece of old mirror that he carried with him, he quickly shaved and cut his hair. He had not completely mastered the art of focusing his heat vision so that it would reflect in a mirror, which now had several blackened and melted spots, but he had yet to find any other means to manage his grooming. Almost out of habit, he put his glasses in the front pocket of his plaid shirt and went downstairs.

Martha was still hard a work, so he decided to go out to the barn and help Lana with the tractor. As he walked to the barn itself, he felt his feet grow unexpectedly heavy. He had no idea how she would react, what she would say, and he felt very worried that he had upset her deeply by not saying goodbye. She still sat at her window, looking out at the Kent farm at night. She still occasionally spoke to him as though he was there and listening, if only idly, as though just in case.

He stood in the doorway to the barn, looking in at Lana as she leaned over the tractor. After a brief inspection, he noticed that a wire to the spark plugs was loss and that it was causing them to occasionally misfire and stall the engine.

He walked quietly up to her and said, "The problem isn't with the carburetor."

Lana froze. Clark listened and knew that she was surprised, but with all he could hear and see, he knew that she wasn't excited to see him. She was happy and relieved and surprised, but she wasn't excited. He thought about it and realized that he was okay with that.

She dropped her tools and hugged him and was off like a rocket, asking him a million questions and not giving him any opportunity to answer. After fixing the tractor and finishing up the usual day to day farm work, they went back inside for pie and coffee.

Martha was sitting at the kitchen table and had a number of papers before her. After getting three plates of pie, Clark scanned everything that she had drawn.

"Impressive," Clark said, taking up one piece of paper. "What is this? Some kind of costume?"

"That is what I was thinking," she said. "If you are going to go around saving people, you can't just wear plaid. You need something, like a uniform. Firefighters and Policeman wear uniforms and I think you should have as much in common with them as possible. So, I was thinking red and blue."

Clark suddenly had a thought, "Hold on a minute..."

After several moments, Clark returned from the far north, carrying his family crest, his father's cape, the golden belt and the red and blue blankets that he had been wrapped in the day his Ma and Pa found him. He cast them over the table, the vibrant hues contrasting nicely together.

"Where did you get those?" Lana asked, running her fingers over the soft, supple cloth.

"I know what those are," Martha said, holding up the bright garbs. "These were the blankets we found you wrapped in, aren't they Clark?"

"Yes," Clark said, a look of painful nostalgia on his face. "There were a few items I have left from my homeworld, Krypton."

"What?" Martha asked, looking surprised and a little afraid.

"I know what happened, Ma," Clark said. "I know where I'm from and why I was sent here."

Martha looked worried. She hadn't really expected Clark to find the answers he sought, because she thought there was no real answer anymore. She knew the possibility existed, but she had never dreamed he would actually find it. Now, she couldn't help but fret that her only son might feel more of a connection with his own people than he might with her.

"Don't worry, Ma," Clark said. "I know who I am. That was never in question. I just know more about myself is all. I will tell you about it sometime, when you're ready."

Martha nodded, rummaging through her papers, looking for ones she sketched on. She looked at the cape, the belt, the strange S symbol, and the blankets of red and blue. Quickly, she made several alterations to her drawings.

"There," she said, holding out the paper to Clark. "What do you think?"

Clark looked at it for a long time. He didn't know what to think at first. It wasn't exactly what he was expecting, but it started to quickly grow on him. He knew it wasn't quite right yet, but it was a big step in the right direction.

"I think that mask is a bad idea," Lana said. "People need to be able to see his face. How else will they be able to trust him?"

"Huh," Martha said. "I hadn't thought of that. But, everyone will know that it's you."

"Well, yes," Clark said. "I thought that's what the point of this was; so people could see me and recognized me."

"Yes, but Clark," Lana spoke up, "people need to recognize you, but not Clark Kent."

Clark thought about it for a second and realized that she was right. The point of this was so that people will see him as more than a simple farm boy. But in order for this to work, the persona he was creating for himself and Clark Kent to be two different people. But more importantly, this persona and Clark Kent had to be completely unrecognizable from each other.

"Who I am when I put on this suit," Clark said, pointing to the paper, "can't be a lie; it has to be the most honest thing I have ever done. It can't be the disguise, so I guess that Clark Kent will have to be."

"What do you mean?" asked Lana.

Clark smiled, "Remember me in high school?"

"Yeah," Lana giggled, cringing.

"I think something like that," Clark said, taking the glasses out of his pocket and shining them on his shirt, "only more so."

"More so?" said Lana. "You were a bookworm, a total wimp, a soft-spoken nerd as interesting as drywall."

"Exactly," Clark said.

Martha smiled, "It's ingenious. So long as no one looks too closely at you, they will have no idea that you are the man in red and blue."

Lana looked unhappy, "But that is no way to have a life."

Clark saw her point and smiled, if a little sadly, "Clark will just be for the regular day-to-day stuff. Work, shopping, apartment, paying taxes, all that stuff. All the important stuff will be when I am in the suit."

Martha was starting to see Lana's point, "But that doesn't leave much room for personal life, Clark. How will people ever get to know you?"

Clark was starting to feel a little defensive, "Look, I understand this will not be easy; I understand that it's going to require a lot of sacrifice on my part. But in exchange for that, I get to be a hero unlike the world has ever known. I will be able to do all the good that I wish for the entire planet. That won't leave a lot of room for dating anyway."

"But," Martha said, "what if you get lonely?"

Clark smiled, "Well if I just need someone to talk to, I'll call you, Ma!"

Lana made mock gagging noises and Clark smiled wider.

"You know you can always call me too, Clark," said Lana.

Clark looked sternly sheepish, "I didn't want to assume anything."

Lana sighed quietly, and said under her breath, "You never do."

It took Clark's look to remind her that he could hear her. Martha didn't notice her violent blush.

After hammering out a few more details, they began their work. As it turned out, the blankets were nearly as impenetrable as Clark's skin. After several attempts to sow, stitch, and cut the material, it fell to Clark to discover the means to separate the fabric. Using a highly concentrated form of heat vision, he was able to sever the molecular bonds holding the sheets of fabric together. Once they were cut and arranged appropriately and using very precise timing, Clark was able to reform the bonds in a similar fashion. After many hours of hard work, they were finished. Clark stood in his new suit. Red cloth boots, red cape, blue bodysuit, golden belt, and his family crest upon his chest.

"Wow," said Lana.

"You look amazing, Clark," Martha said. "Anyone who takes one look at you in that suit will never be able to forget."

"I'm counting on it," Clark said, his voice deeper somehow, richer. "I just hope the world is ready for me."

 _No_ , Martha thought. _I just pray that you are ready for the world._


	9. Chapter 9: A New Job

"So, Mr. Kent," Perry White said in brusque, no-nonsense tones, "What exactly makes you think you're ready for the Daily Planet?"

Clark adjusted his glasses, shrugging a little as he grinned sheepishly, "Golly, Mr. White. I'm not sure. I've always loved reporting. I wrote for the school newspaper when I was in high school, and I've done some writing and traveling abroad. I'm just looking for somewhere where I can do some good."

Perry had no idea what to make of the man. He dressed like an underpaid door-to-door salesman and hadn't seemed to have gained any social skills since he was that awkward high school student working in the school newspaper. However, his writing style was punchy, capable of expressing the writer's opinion perfectly without feeling the writer's presence in the piece at all. His resume wasn't half bad either; above-average familiarity with computers, multilingual, and a word per minute typing speed that was hard to be believed. On the other hand, he seemed completely and utterly spineless. Perry needed more than just another suit behind the desk; he needed a reporter.

"Now, Mr. Kent," he began, "this is the Daily Planet. We are one of the top news sellers in the world. We have a news division in every major city in every major country on the globe. We have a website that gets read by enough people every day to populate a small country. When people want to know what's going on in the world, they come to us. There isn't an experienced reporter in the world that wouldn't give their right hand to come work with us if they don't already. Right now, I just don't see what makes you think you can get a job here. You seem to me like a small fish in a big, big ocean. Now, I'm not an unreasonable guy. I know that sometimes people just need a hand up. So, with the understanding that if this becomes a regular thing I'll throw you out of here faster than you can say Chief, I will give you one shot to change my mind. So, Mr. Kent, impress me."

"Mr. White," Clark said, his voice quavering. "I know what the Daily Planet is. It is the greatest newspaper on the planet Earth. I am an experienced reporter, sir, and I would give my right hand to work here. Now I know I may not look like much and I may not be the most likable guy in the room, but I am a darned good writer, sir. I'm not sitting back here wondering what the Daily Planet can do for me; I'm here asking what I can do for the Daily Planet. I may not be the best man for the job, but if you give me a chance, I know I can be the right one."

Perry White raised his eyebrows and interlocked his fingers, completely and utterly unimpressed. The young man had heart, there was no denying it. But there was no point having heart in this business if you didn't have the courage to write from it. After a very lengthy pause, Perry finally spoke.

"All right, look Kent. I'm going to level with you; I have absolutely no doubt that you can write a damn fine story, one that I would have no problem printing in this newspaper. However, you have shown me absolutely no reason to believe that you are capable of finding anything worth writing about. But, as luck would have it, this may still be your lucky day. As it turns out, I interviewed a young lady not more than thirty minutes ago who is also looking to join the Daily Planet. And, also as it turns out, she is one of the most bulldogged, go get 'em, tenacious young women I have ever had the pleasure of interviewing, but unfortunately for her, the girl doesn't know writing from Tuvan throat singing. She could misspell the word spell and doesn't understand composition or story direction. In other words, she has half the skills I need and you have the other half.

"This is what I'm going to do," he continued, walking around to sit on the front edge of his desk. "I am gonna hire you both on Copy pay for one week, and if by the end of that week, you two haven't come up with the best damn story any one new hire has ever written, I'll fire you both. Unless, of course, in that time one of you does something particularly inspiring to get on my good side. Does that sound like a fair deal to you, Kent?"

Shyly and not quite reluctantly, he extended his hand, not meeting Mr. White's eyes. Perry shook, "Well, come on then."

"May I ask where we are going, sir?" Clark said timidly.

"Of course you can," Mr. White said with exasperation. "Jesus, Kent. Can you give the nervous schoolboy routine a rest for a second? We're going to meet your new partner. Unlike you, she understood just exactly how short her resume was. But, I told her if you weren't up to scratch, I'd kick you to the curb and we'd try her. Ms. Lane was diligent enough to wait."

Lois sat in one of the two chairs in the tiny interview room, her booted feet propped on the other, as she texted her sister, Lucy. She had been put on academic probation again after coming to her Modern Economics class hung over for the third time in a month. Lois was so exasperated by her kid sister's antics as of late that she had spent the entire time she had sat in the interview room verbally bludgeoning Lucy with the merits of having a college degree, something that Lois did not even have. Lucy had replied with a whimsical nonchalance, refusing to acknowledge any issue her excessive partying might have. As though the poor interview wasn't bad enough, Lucy had managed to push her mild irritation into downright unpleasantness.

She was about to give up waiting as a bad job when the door to the interview room open. Perry White entered with a young man in tow, Lois's age, maybe a little older. Lois couldn't make up her mind whether he was a highly conservative Mormon or an actor in a play, trying to betray the most boring, innocuous guy on the planet.

Pushing down her worry and discomfort about the possibility of not getting this job and the possibility that Lucy might get kicked out of school, Lois stood to greet the two men.

Perry stood between them, "Clark Kent, I'd like to introduce you to Lois Lane."

Clark had a hard time thinking of her as a bulldog. She was dressed like a postgraduate geologist, back from a long expedition hike to help prove her thesis, her pants, shirt and boots comfortable and function rather than trendy and fashionable. Her nails were well kept but unpolished, her makeup minimal and professional. Her hazel eyes were direct and unwavering. She offered her hand, and she had a firm, no-nonsense grip. Clark's, on the other hand, was so timid that she looked almost confused. Her confusion was suddenly peppered with indignation as she turned back to Mr. White, "So, this is the guy you're going a hire instead of me?"

"With you, actually," Perry said. "He's your new partner."

Lois looked as though she had just been groped, "What?!"

Perry turned and started walking out of the room, as though completely expecting Lois's outrage. She was after him in hot pursuit, leaving Clark with no option but to follow. He suddenly understood what Mr. White meant about Lois's tenacity.

"I interviewed for a reporting job," Lois said vehemently, "Not half of one."

"I don't disagree with you, Ms. Lane," said Parry, over his shoulder. "But unfortunately, you only have half the experience I'm looking for. Mr. Kent here has the other half."

"So what?" Lois asked. "You are going to hire us both at half pay, force us together, and hope something good comes out of it?"

"That is exactly what I'm good to do, Ms. Lane," Perry said, moving across the news floor, heading back towards his office. "But you will both be getting Copy pay, much more reasonable."

"This is unfair, Perry!" Lois said, loud enough for more than one head turned in their direction. "I'd sooner breed with the guy so you could hire our kid!"

Perry stopped walking. He turned slowly around to face Lois. With what looked to be a Herculean effort of patience, he said, very calmly and quietly, "Fair? No, Ms. Lane. Fair would not be giving either of you a chance, because neither of you can do the job I want. But I'm giving you a chance, so long as you're not bullheaded enough to turn it down. You have the makings of a great reporter, Lane. You just can't write worth spit. Kent can, but I doubt that boy could find a worthwhile story to save his life. I'm hoping, if you'll pardon the phrase with respect to your breeding comment, you two will rub off on each other. But, maybe I'm wrong. If you two can't pull this off, maybe I'll hire the one who screws up the least by the end of the week. For now, Lane, you can take it or you can leave it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have chiefly things to do. If you decide to stay, I think there're some desks available in the northeast corner. Let's Lacey in HR know and she'll walk you through the paperwork."

Perry closed the door behind him as he reentered his office. For a moment, Lois looked as though she was going to bowl right through it, but finally, she took a deep breath and turned back to face Clark. He stood there, hunched and round-shouldered, holding his briefcase handle with both hands, a worriedly hopeful smile twisted on his face. Closing her eyes, taking another deep breath, and steeling herself, Lois turned and started heading to the desks that Perry had mentioned, Clark shuffling along behind her.

Lois slammed herself down into a chair at the first empty desk she came to. Clark took the desk opposite her and sat quietly as if waiting for instruction or, at least, for her to say something. She simply whipped out her cell phone, replied to Lucy's latest string of texts, then tried unsuccessfully several times to log onto her new computer. Clark, on the other hand, miraculously seemed to know the exact procedure. Picking up the phone at his desk, he dialed tech support, got a login and password, and spent the next few minutes familiarizing himself with the software and server. It was another fifteen minutes before Lois finally said something.

"Great," Lois said, somewhat sarcastically, "he's a writer nerd and a computer geek."

Clark turned in his chair, "Now, Ms. Lane. That's not a very nice thing to say to somebody."

Lois stood up from her chair. Walking around her desk, she came to sit on the edge of Clark's, almost sitting on his keyboard.

"Look, kid," Lois said, somehow leaning over him even though they were close to the same height at the moment, "I don't know what game you're playing, but you're not going to win. I may not be the best writer in the world, but I can guarantee you this; I will work harder than you, I will work longer than you, and I will work smarter than you. I will do what it takes to get this job, and that means you have one of two choices; get on board or get out of my way. Understand?"

For the first time since he started Smallville High, Clark actually had to work not to break character. He had never met anybody who could make him so instantaneously defensive as the woman who sat before him. It took him almost twice as long as usual did to formulate his response, which was still completely unnoticeable to the average human being.

He put an edge of defensiveness in his posture; not the kind of defensiveness where he thought he needed to defend his position, but the kind of defensiveness where he thought he might need to defend himself from bodily harm. He put a touch of fear in his eyes and turned the worried schoolboy charm on full. Hunching submissively, as though fearing rebuke, he said, "Golly, Ms. Lane, I'm not trying to play a game or anything. Honest. I'm not trying to take anything away from you. If you're the best one for the job, you can have it. I'm just here to do the best job that I can. I'm sorry if that makes you upset."

Lois was completely and utterly stunned. She had absolutely no idea how to respond. After practically gaping at him for almost a solid minute, she said, "Are you for real?"

Clark chuckled nervously, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Ms. Lane."

"Who are you?" Lois asked, looking mostly bewildered. "I see what Perry means now. You're a complete pushover. I bet you've never been in a fight in your entire life."

"Oh, no," Clark said, his voice fluttering, "I try to avoid violence whenever I can. Someone could get hurt, Ms. Lane."

Lois sat on the edge of his desk, staring for a few minutes before she finally got up and grabbed her purse, "That's it. You're coming with me."

Clark stood reluctantly, "Where are we going, Ms. Lane? Not anywhere violent, I hope."

Lois actually laughed, "Not just yet, kid. We're getting coffee. You're going to tell me about you and I'm going to tell you about reporting. I have a feeling it could take the rest of the day before we're acquainted. Tomorrow, we work."

They took the elevator down to the ground-level floor, where the Daily Planet had a coffee shop in its lobby.

"So," Lois said, "what can I get you?"

"Oh, no," Clark said, "please. Allow me."

Lois rolled her eyes but smiled as she put her handbook back in her bag. As they stepped up to the counter, the barista stood ready to take their order.

"Yes," Clark said, looking over the menu, "I'll have a warm milk with a squirt of honey and a little cinnamon. For you, Ms. Lane?"

The barista and Lois were matching expressions of dismay.

Clark simply smiled, but seemed a bit unsure as to Lois's delay, "Uh, Ms. Lane?"

Lois took one last look at Clark, shaking her head, then turned to the barista, "Large coffee. Light roast. Black."

"I don't blame ya," said the barista, taking Clark's money.

After acquiring their drinks, Lois and Clark sat at an out-of-the-way table in the far corner. After taking the first few sips of their drinks, Lois turned to Clark in a rather businesslike manner, "So, tell me about you."

Clark shyly stared down into his warm milk, "I'm not sure what you mean, Ms. Lane."

Lois sipped her coffee and gave Clark a long, hard look. It was obvious that even this much attention was making Clark horribly uncomfortable. After a moment of thoughtful consideration, she said, "You don't talk to women too often, do you?"

Clark looked confused, "Of course I do, Ms. Lane, all the time."

"No," Lois said, "I don't mean at the bank or the dry cleaners or anything like that. I mean socially, like this. Do you ever date?"

Clark smiled sheepishly, "I do. Not infrequently, Ms. Lane."

Lois raised an eyebrow, "How many second dates?"

Clark suddenly became very interested at staring down into his milk again.

Lois rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger, feeling both frustrated and full of self-reproach. It was obvious that if she was going to make any social connection with this individual who was now her partner, she was going to have to do all the work herself. She was also likely going to have to do all the work to find a story herself. But at the same time, she felt sorry for the guy. She just prayed that he was as good at writing as Perry White said he was.

"Tell me about yourself," Lois said again. "Who are you? Where are you from? Why do you want this job? You know, your hopes, your dreams, what makes you who you are, that sort of thing."

"I'm from Kansas," Clark said, then took a long sip of his warm milk.

Lois just stared, "Seriously?"

"Yes, Ms. Lane," Clark said. "From a town called Smallville."

"Smallville?" Lois snorted. "What, was Bigville taken?"

"Grandville," Clark corrected, "And yes; it was in the next county over."

Lois looked incredulous, "You must be joking."

"Why would I be joking, Ms. Lane?" Clark asked, totally nonplussed.

Lois rolled her eyes, "Any brothers or sisters? Any more like you back home?"

Clark shook his head, suppressing a smile, "No, Ms. Lane."

"I have one sister," Lois said. "She is younger than I am and her name is Lucy. Parents?"

Clark pressed his lips, "Ma still lives on the family farm back in Smallville, Ms. Lane. My father passed away when I was eighteen, but that is a subject I prefer not to talk about, if that it's all right with you."

Lois smiled sadly and sympathetically, "Oh, I'm sorry. My mother kicked it when I was still really little. Cancer. Left my dad, The General, to raise me and my sister. Pretty much meant that he was in charge of me and I was in charge of Lucy. Not the best way to come up but I have heard of worse. Any schooling?"

Clark shrugged, "Nothing after Smallville High. Did a little traveling, but not anything special."

"I schooled a little after high school, all six of them," Lois said. "We moved around a lot. Once I was eighteen and out of the house, I eventually gravitated to Metropolis. Got two years into a degree in political science at Metro Community College, but authority figures and I seem to disagree a lot. Been waiting tables and taking odd jobs just to make ends meet ever since. A couple of months back, we had a group of thugs break into the restaurant where I was working and I got interviewed by a reporter from The Inquisitor. We weren't even halfway through the interview before I realized that he was a crappy reporter and I could do it loads better. I tried the Inquisitor, but it is the rag everyone claimed, so here I am."

Clark sipped his milk, smiles and nodded, and the silence soon became rather awkward.

Lois was beginning to become rather rankled, despite his obvious social awkwardness, "Seriously, Smallville; you're gonna have to throw me a bone here at some point. If we are going to be partners, we need to work together. Come on; say something."

For the briefest moment, as Lois looked on, Clark looked suddenly, genuinely dismayed. Then the corner of his mouth pulled up and he smiled weakly, "I really like the milk."

In spite of herself, Lois smiled.

The rest of the day was not a complete disaster in Lois's mind. She had had worst dates and despite Clark's significant and numerous social impairments, he seemed totally down to earth, even if he was stiffly formal. She could feel his nearly naive idealism starting to grow on her, and despite her reservations, she was starting to understand and even like Clark. His impression of her, however, was completely unknown to her. Clark was pleasant to everyone and seems incapable of disliking anyone. There was absolutely no way of knowing how exaggerated his sincerity was. But after many hours, three coffees, a blueberry muffin, and nearly endless needling conversation, Lois began to have the sinking suspicion that his sincerity was not exaggerated at all.

"Well, Smallville," Lois said finally, "it's starting to get late. I'm going to head home. Did you want to share a cab?"

"I appreciate it, Ms. Lane," Clark said, "but I really don't have the money to afford a cab right now."

There was a snowball's chance in hell that Lois was going to admit that she was in similar financial straits, "All right. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

Clark stood, picked up his briefcase, and waited patiently.

"Um," Lois said, "what are you doing?"

Clark smiled genially, "I'm walking you out, Ms. Lane."

By now, Lois was not surprised, "Thanks, Smallville. But I think I can find the door without your help."

"Oh," Clark said, nominally distressed, "forgive me, Ms. Lane. I did not mean to impugn your sense of direction."

Despite her protestations, he remained diligently at her side. Even after coming out of the ladies room where she tried to ditch him, Lois found him waiting patiently for her. Even after exiting the building, he seemed reluctant to leave her side.

"I don't need an escort," Lois said, incapable of keeping her comment from becoming snide.

Clark didn't seem to notice, "I'm afraid I must insist, Ms. Lane. It is almost dark and this is no time for a young lady to be out walking alone."

Lois was starting to get angry, "I can take care of myself. Besides, what are you going do if we get into trouble? Whimper at 'em?"

Clark smiled, unfazed, "I'm sure they would listen to reason. Violence is never the answer."

Lois was certain that if they got mugged, she would be the one doing the rescuing and that he would be the one needing an escort; to the hospital.

"How are you planning on getting home, Ms. Lane?" Clark asked.

Lois sighed quietly, "I guess I was planning to take the Metro Line."

Lois's aggravation soon wore off at the novelty of Clark's first time on the Metro Line. Watching him fumble his way through buying a ticket, nearly getting caught in the turnstiles, and becoming increasingly anxious with the passenger's proximity to rapidly moving trains was intensely gratifying to her.

"You really are a country boy at heart, aren't you, Smallville?" Lois said rhetorically.

Clark finally made it onto the train, paying a ridiculous amount of attention to the gap between the platform and the train itself, "I'm really sorry, Ms. Lane. This is my first time using this particular form of public transportation."

Clark nearly toppled over as the train accelerated, bumbling into half a dozen different passengers before he finally found his feet, seeming to apologize a dozen times to every passenger.

"I know," Lois said, smiling bemusedly with just a touch of endearment, "I can tell."

Despite her initial reluctance, Lois found the journey home at least marginally more enjoyable than if she'd done it by herself. She prided herself on not needing anyone or anything, but she could not deny that she found the trip at least more entertaining with Clark accompanying her. She didn't even mind that she was breaking her first rule about men; she needed to know them two weeks or have at least three dates before she let them know where she lived.

Finally, she found herself standing outside her door with a man she had known for only half a day, suddenly wondering exactly what he was expected. But, true to form, Clark did not break character. Without so much as a handshake, he wished her a good night and waited patiently as she closed the door before turning and walking out of the apartment complex.

As soon as he was out of the building, Clark turned down the nearest alley. After a brief examination of the surrounding area to make sure no one could see him or hear him, Clark launched himself into the air, landing silently on the rooftop. Under the cover of night, he sped, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and finally coming to rest on the roof of his own apartment complex. Using the fire escape to slow his descent, Clark dropped hand over hand back to the streets. He preferred to use the normal method of entering and exiting his apartment, so as not to draw attention to himself, or rather, the lack thereof.

Once in his apartment, he relaxed, taking off his glasses and stretching to his usual height. After loosening his tie, he picked up the phone and dialed the farm.

"Hello, Ma," Clark said. "It's me."

"Hello, Sweetheart," Martha said. "How did it go?"

Clark sighed, "Well, I didn't get the job, but I didn't not get the job."

"How so?" Martha asked.

Clark made dinner and ate, "Mild-mannered Clark Kent isn't exactly what you would call a modern, go get 'em reporter. It would kind of be contrary to his character. Unfortunately, being good at writing is not enough to get you a job at the Daily Planet, but it is enough to get your foot in the door."

"I see," Martha said. "So you got a job but not the job."

"Yeah," Clark said. "They partnered me with another new hire. She has enough tenacity for the both of us."

"Ah, I see," Martha said, her voice full of meaning. "Is she cute?"

"Ma!" Clark said, affronted.

"I'm just asking," Martha said, her voice dripping with motherly indignation. "I take that as a yes?"

Clark sighed heavily, "I'm not exactly in the market for dating right now, Ma. I have more important things on my mind. I've been in Metropolis for over a week now; I think I'm going to make my first appearance tonight."

There was a protracted silence.

"Do you think you're ready, Clark?" Martha asked.

Clark unbuttoned his shirt. Turning to the full-length mirror on the back of his door, he pulled her shirt and tie aside, revealing a large red S on his chest.

"Oh yes, Ma," Clark said. "I've been waiting for this my whole life."


	10. Chapter 10: A Friend

Lois was not exactly a morning person. After a freezing shower and enough coffee to qualify as a food group, she was dressed and out the door. Still blurry eyed, she picked up a copy of the Inquisitor at a local newsstand before hopping on the Metro Line heading to work, wanting to know what the so-called competition was up to. She just got to an interesting story when the train arrived. Taking a seat in the first car, she began to read the story in more detail.

 _Phantom vigilante sweeps Metropolis!_

 _Late last night, a number of petty crimes were thwarted by some supernatural vigilante that defies description. The only common link seems to be the appearance of the colors red and blue, and the fact that all occurrences have some detail that defies explanation: mushroomed bullet's that impacted on nothing, knives that inexplicably melt, muggers being struck by an unforeseen and almost inhuman degree of force. In one incident, two burglars, in the midst of robbing a jewelry store, were thrown into opposite walls, and, while the whole thing was caught on film, there was no sign of our invisible vigilante._

 _Though our mysterious crusader's actions are not limited to merely preventing crime. A number of traffic accidents seemed to have been prevented by the same unseen source. Numerous lives were saved when a bus was prevented from colliding with a semi-truck late last night. Leonard Hicks, a sophomore at Metro U, claims to have been picked up and carried out of the path of a moving car when he stumbled into the street after spending the evening at a bar with friends._

 _No comment yet from the Metropolis Police Department. Whether or not this good Samaritan spirit is just passing through or here to stay, only time will tell._

Lois was intrigued by the story. Though she couldn't put her finger on what, she was convinced that a huge detail of it was missing. She made up her mind to look into this phantom vigilante as she arrived at the Daily Planet.

She folded the paper under her arm in preparations to throw it away when she got off at the next stop. She was just getting to her feet when the entire train gave a tremendous jerk. Just about every standing passenger stumbled and more than a few fell to the floor. From where she stood, Lois could see into the conductor's cabin and watched as she flipped numerous switches again and again. The entire display board lit up with flashing red lights, and as she looked on, Lois felt the unmistakable sensation of the train accelerating, right past the intended stop.

Not wasting any time, Lois walked directly into the cabin, "What happened?"

"You can't be in here!" the conductor exclaims as she continued to try unsuccessfully to regain control of the train.

Lois rolled her eyes, "Look, lady, you have more important things on your plate right now. What happened?"

"I can't tell from here," the conductor said. "All I know is we are having a massive system failure. The tram is in an uncontrolled acceleration. We just passed regulation maximum speed. Controls are non-responsive. Emergency brake is non-responsive."

"Can you kill the power?" asked Lois.

The conductor shook her head, "They can only cut the power from the main station, but the radio is down too and I can't contact them to let them know."

Lois was starting to become worried, "Is there nothing you can do?"

The conductor looked over her shoulder at Lois shrewdly, "I can pray."

As one, Lois and the conductor turned to look out the front window of the train, both of them uncomprehending of what they saw; several hundred feet in front of the train, standing in the middle of the elevated track was a man. The details of his clothing could not be made out at this distance, though the colors, red and blue, were easily identifiable, as was the fact that he was wearing some sort of cape or cloak since it was billowing in the wind off to one side. The sight was so unexpected that the only thing that both women could do was stare.

After the several seconds it took to get close enough to him to observe him in detail, the situation seemed even more baffling. He looked determined, his weight was forward, his hands outstretched, as though he was prepared to brace himself. At what seemed to be the last possible second, he seemed to give a little jump, and squarely landed on the front of the train.

Lois was not sure what she was expecting; blood and gore seemed to be at the top of her list. She was not expecting him to be completely unharmed, clutching to the train so firmly that his hands noticeably bowed the metal beneath them. For the briefest half second, before he was able to do whatever he was planning, Lois got her first significant look at him.

From her vantage point through the window, Lois could only see him from the waist up. He wore a tight-fitting blue garment that was bafflingly seamless. Upon his chest was a diamond-shaped pentagon, almost like a large golden shield, lined in red and encapsulating a large red S. From his shoulders streamed a red cape, billowing to one side. As unconventional as his clothing were, it was nothing when compared to the man himself.

His build, his poise, his very presence likened him to what Lois could only describe as godlike. He was broad and muscular, yet controlled and graceful. He seemed full of purpose, with no wasted effort or energy. His face was full of an unwavering resolve. His entire form seemed to radiate an almost palpable aura of power.

At that moment, a moment that Lois was certain would be ingrained in her memory until the day she died, the one fact that astonished her the most was that despite everything, the speeding train, the city flashing by, the unfathomable force of thousands upon thousands of pounds of steel and human bodies, Lois found that she was completely calm.

Bracing his hands, the Man in Blue looked at his feet and over the front of the train. What he observed must have encouraged him, because he immediately set to work. Shifting himself down. Lois could only guess that he was bracing his feet against the track. There was a high pitched squeal of friction, as if steel were grinding against steel. Lois could not believe her senses as she felt the train began to decelerate. As the train slowed, the man readjusted his grip to compensate for the crumpling frame of the front car. Finally, less than a hundred feet away from the next station, the train finally stopped. But, as if stopping the train was not enough, the man grabbed hold of the front car's frame and proceeded to pull the train into the station.

It was then that sense returned to Lois. As the train came to a complete stop, she exited the cabin and pulled the emergency release, practically breaking the door to get it open. Once she had pried it open far enough to slip through, she found herself running squarely into the S symbol upon the man's chest.

Lois swayed and found herself caught in a strong embrace.

"Easy," said a rich and resonant voice. "Everything is all right."

Lois tilted her head and looked up, finding a pair of earnest and almost unnaturally blue eyes. Lois couldn't help but find it ironic that after everything that had happened, it was then that her knees decided to go weak. Sensing her unsteadiness, the man lifted gently in his arms, setting her comfortably on one of the station benches.

"You'll be safe here," he said.

"Wait," she said, as though she would fly apart if she didn't say something. "Who are you?"

He smiled, "A friend."

He turned back to the train. She watched as he moved precisely down the platform, assisting the passengers with opening the doors using emergency levers. As soon as every door was open and no serious injuries were discovered, he turned and vanished in a red and blue blur.

It only took her two seconds to make up her mind. Pulling out her phone, Lois dialed Kent's number, "Smallville? It's Lois. How far are you from the Daily Planet? Good. I hope you're ready to write today because I just saved our jobs."


	11. Chapter 11: Interview

"This is ludicrous, White!" Lois just managed not to scream. "This is bias crap that will do nothing but spread public fear!"

She tossed the flapping paper down on Mr. White's desk, but he barely took any notice of it.

"Cool it, Lane," he said, putting extra emphasis on her name. "Just because an article is contrary to your all-encompassing view of things does not make it biased."

"But it isn't helping," Lois said, sounding just short of petulant.

White huffed, "Oh dear. Really? I had no idea. Why don't I just recall every paper? You want to walk with me door to door and pick up all the papers that everyone has already taken off their stoop or bought from the newsstand?"

Lois crossed her arms and glared.

"We aren't in the business of coddling the public, Lois," Perry said more gently, but still firm. "We print facts. And nothing that Ms. Grant has printed here is untrue. For most people in this city, the symbol on this guy's chest should be a big old question mark."

Lois turned up her eyes and took a deep breath, "Superman is not here to hurt us, Chief."

Perry crossed his hands behind his head, "Hand me the article that can prove that and I will print it. Page one. Promise."

Lois was about to stomp out, nearly running down Clark who, she was embarrassed to admit, she had forgotten was even there.

"Come on, Smallville," she barked, and Clark started.

"Wait a second, Lois," Perry said, sitting up. "I'm serious. You bring me an article, better yet, an interview, and I will get it out there. I hope your right, honest, I do, but I have been in this business too long to act on hope. I strive for something much more important; the truth. You should too. You get burned a whole lot less."

Perry couldn't see her face, and Clark got the distinct impression that Lois didn't really think he was looking either as the pain seemed to flow into it. A deep set old grief filled her face, something that looked almost wrong for the lack of tears. Clark felt himself want to comfort her, to reach out or at the very least tell her everything would be okay. Instead, he did nothing. He couldn't risk it.

"Or," Lois said so that only Clark could her, again without thinking he could, "you get burned a whole lot more."

Without another word, she returned to their office, Clark following behind.

It had been over three weeks since Clark had made his debut to the public as the Man in Blue, and since then, the city was in a state of uproar, followed by the state, and then the country, and then the world. Clark was making regular appearances all over the country by now, for natural disasters and accidents and crimes that would cost human lives, and everyone seemed to have something to say about it. Lois' article was one of the first and the first where the reporter who wrote it was present for the event detailed in the article. She wrote the draft herself, but it took three rewrites by Clark before Perry would agree to print it. Lois and Clark's article was also the first to name him Superman. And, something that had never happened in the history of the Planet, Superman got two new print reporters to page one in their first week. They got their jobs, their own office, and The Planet sold out on a triple volume evening edition.

Since then, Lois seemed to be getting worse. Every article that wasn't a smear piece was getting tacked to a corkboard that she had hung on the wall, covered in shorthand and symbols that only she seemed to be able to decipher. Among the articles were a number of enlarged security camera photos of Superman, all blurry and black-and-white. In one corner was a city, state, and country map, all with pins denoting incidences, some with little strings that connected to corresponding articles. In the center was a list, containing a bio that Lois herself had been adding to for weeks. It had a list of confirmed abilities where most were true and a list of possible abilities where almost none were true and a list of physical characteristics. She was adding to the wall every day, and on the few occasions in which she tried to start working on an article, she got a few sentences into it when she deleted what she had and went back to the wall. Clark was starting to become worried.

"Mr. White isn't completely wrong, Ms. Lane," Clark said, shuffling papers on his noticeably smaller desk shoved in one corner. Lois perused her corkboard, looking at nothing and everything.

"The article isn't wrong," she said, "and that's what bugs me."

Clark managed to hide his shock perfectly. The article in question had not been one of his favorites. It said, in no small terms, that the public had no reason to think that "this so-called Superman" was worth trusting. It had gone on to point out that everything he did could be in his own self interest, operating outside the law and answering to no one, forcing his morals, regardless of what they might be, upon a defenseless public, and with no guarantee that if those morals changed, or revealed their true nature, that he wouldn't effectively enslave the world. Since it had entered circulation, Clark had been reluctant to help anyone, worrying that his intervention might do more harm than good. He still went, but only when utterly necessary and he did so with a heavy heart.

"What I wouldn't give to know what he is thinking," Lois said, her hand almost unconsciously starting to reach for the largest and clearest, though still hardly legible, picture of Superman.

Clark took a deep breath. He had to be careful here, very, very careful, but he acted, despite his worries.

"Well, Ms. Lane," he said, sounding a little sheepish, "I, for one, trust him. His actions speak louder than words and I think he is here to help."

Lois snorted, "Typical."

Clark would have been a little offended if he hadn't known Lois well enough to know that she was not angry with him. She turned towards him, looking more than a little fiery.

"Actions speak as loud as words, that's true," she said, "but actions can leave more up to interpretation than words. By and large, people are mistrusting."

"But-" Clark stated, and Lois cut him off, "Yes, Smallville! Yes! A person can be trusting and blah blah blah, but people, I mean real people, on mass, are stupid, scared, and quick to judge. You can make every excuse in the world, but expecting them to be otherwise is just not going to work out for you."

Clark felt a little ashamed, "But, Ms. Lane, if you try to prevent peoples fears by talking to them, convincing them, isn't that the same as admitting those fears are justified?"

Lois laughed, "They are justified! People expect the worst because they are so used to getting it. They are afraid because they have been let down and dumped on and been used their entire lives. Why should they expect anything less?"

Clark did feel ashamed, actually ashamed for the first time since Jonathan's death. He didn't understand, couldn't have understood, and yet, he should have. He should have considered, really looked at what he was doing. But, he hadn't, and now, he had really messed up. He almost said "I'm sorry" aloud before he stopped himself.

Clark spent the rest of the day making his decision. It took a lot of thought and consideration, but in the end, Clark knew what he had to do.

He waited until Lois stepped out for coffee, then walked to the door. Opening it, he ran at great speed, through the bullpen, to the stairs, up to the roof, and back. As he did, he held in the strange energy that slid around his body, making him frictionless, resulting in a torrent of wind that was noticeable to all in the vicinity. Once in the office again, he took up a post-it and scrawled in his real handwriting.

"I want to set the record straight. Meet me on the roof of your apartment building tonight, 8 pm."

He then set to work picking up the papers he had spilled in his hasty trip. As Lois returned from the lobby, she was bombarded by complaints of the strange gale that had blown through the offices. Clark saw that she was narrowing in, almost instinctively, and was almost spilling his milk and her coffee as she jogged to their office. Dropping her coffee in the trash to free up a hand, she flung open the door and almost tripped over Clark on the floor.

"Whoa, Smallville!" she said, stumbling around him, and he managed to fall completely to the floor trying to get out of her way.

"I'm sorry!" he said, his voice high. "I don't know what happened! The papers flew off my desk. I'm sorry, Ms. Lane. I'll pick them up. Did you spill your coffee?"

Lois looked almost disappointed to find only Clark in the office, "Um, yeah. I dropped my coffee on the way in. Up. I dropped my coffee on the way up. It's fine. I have your milk, though."

Clark looked distraught, "But, Ms. Lane, I know how important your coffee is. Please, allow me."

He got his wallet, and Lois frowned, "No, Smallville, it's fine."

He held up a hand, his face no-nonsense, "I insist."

As he went to get Lois her coffee, he kept an eye on her. As she picked up the papers from her desk, she turned to the corkboard and the post in the middle of the large picture of Superman. It was hard for Clark to read the expression on her face from the back, but between the number of small reflections through the office, he was able to do it. She stood, in awe, staring at the note. She read it at least seventeen times in total, rereading various parts over and over again. Finally, she checked her watch and apparently decided that the four hours and seventeen minutes she would have after her fifty one minute metro ride was going to be needed to get ready for the appointment.

She bolted, grabbing her purse, her suit coat and making more of a disturbance than Clark's passage to the roof had as she grabbed an elevator. She didn't even see Clark standing just outside the coffee shop holding her coffee as she sprinted for the metro station, a girlish smile on her face as she ran.

Clark went back to work, glancing at her every once in a while, though keeping his eyes away when he heard her shower running. He wrote a piece on a stabbing at a local park and a nearby church that was raising money to put in night lighting, refurbish the playground, and was totally and completely taken aback when he realized the Lois was waxing her legs. She tried on just about every outfit she had, and at one point, Clark was more than a little dismayed when she held up a sheer, blue nightgown until she discarded it. She settled for a white, thick, V-neck shirt that was just a tad too low cut to be considered professional, a tasteful tan suit-skirt with a matching cashmere sweater. She put on a few articles of small gold jewelry and spent the rest of the time working her hair and makeup in a nearly endless circle of trial and error. Finally, she was in almost matching pumps, standing on the roof of her apartment at twenty til, holding her phone with a tape record app and flicking her eyes at the ashtray can someone had left beside the door.

Clark took a deep breath, said his goodbyes on his way to the lobby, exited the Daily Planet, and took to the rooftops at the first opportunity. He leaped, building to building, absorbing the energy in his legs as he landed, making a nearly soundless and completely invisible trip to his apartment just long enough to drop off his briefcase and his work clothes before dawning his red and blue and making his way to the rooftop. Lois was glancing at the clock on her phone when he landed silently on the edge of the roof.

Lois was irritated. She wasn't sure what she was irritated with exactly, but she knew she was. Sure, she was about to meet with the embodiment of a living god, both in function as well as... form. But she promised herself that she was going to be professional. Or prayed. She berated herself, desperate to prove that this was no different from any other interview she had ever done. Even though she really hadn't done any. Why was this so hard?

"Good evening," came a voice, a rich and deep voice that made her think of warm shivers and suppressed giggles and opening the second bottle of wine. She mentally smacked herself and turned. He stood on the parapet, the light breeze swaying the red cape that fell from his shoulders in slow undulations. His stance was firm and arms crossed, he unbelievably blue eyes seeming to bore into Lois. She tried to think of what to say, tried to breathe, mentally cursed herself with every swear word a general's daughter could hope to learn, but finally, she opened her mouth to speak.

She wished that she hadn't chosen the moment he decided to step down onto the roof to try to speak. He moved with the certainty of gravity, with a constancy that kept the stars in the sky. He moved with the smooth grace of the arc of an orbiting world, somehow reminding her of Greek mythological statuary. She couldn't fathom a way to see him as more godlike than she did at that moment.

"I hope I haven't been keeping you long, Miss...?" he asked. She felt herself fighting to keep her toes from curling. That voice was firm, with a resonance that spoke of size, of depth, of broad shoulders, of muscles under fabric begging to be revealed and trace, of rough hands and firm grips, of thudding hearts, of safety and belonging. It made him real, and yet so much more unreal. She then remembered he had been asking something.

"Lois," she said, quickly, realizing that she had been gaping for over half a minute. "Y- No! Lane! Miss Lane, not Miss Lois. Lois is my first name, so, Miss Lane. But you don't have to call me that. Not that you can call me anything. I mean, Lois. You can call me Lois."

And then he smiled, and Lois did something that she hadn't done unless she was angry in almost twenty years; she blushed.

"If you like, Lois," he said pleasantly. "You may call me Superman."

Lois felt a little fluttery, then remembered her recorder. Glancing at it, she asked, "Do you mind?"

He smiled, maybe a bit uncomfortably, but said, "Of course not."

Lois clicked the app on and was about to offer him a seat, except that the only two chairs were solid plastic. She was about to make some self-deprecating joke, when he gestured, "Please, have a seat if you like. I am perfectly comfortable standing."

Something about his manner finally cracked something inside Lois. She was not in control; this was her interview, her building, her emotions. She was not going to be so weak as to lose herself over a set of broad shoulders and a sexy voice. And a handsome face. And washboard abs so firm they could stop bullets. She dug deep, cemented the face of her junior prom date in her thoughts, looked at him only indirectly, and sat, setting down her phone as it recorded.

"This is Lois Lane, interviewing the individual known as Superman," she said, adding the time and date. He walked to the table, standing with his profile to her, looking out over the city, almost as though he was lost in thought.

"I think the first question that people want to know is the most important one," she said. "Why are you here?"

He turned slightly towards her, his head bowed, his eyes closed as he smiled, "I am here to help."

Lois found it easy to be irritated at him, more irritated that she expected she could be with someone so... appealing, "Care to elaborated on that?"

His eyes came up, deeply serious, "There is so much pain in the world. People hurt each other and themselves every day. They take advantage of each other, they end each others' lives. If I can help, I will."

"What?" Lois asked rhetorically. "You are just a big blue humanitarian?"

He turned, an unexpected passion in his eyes, almost startling Lois.

"I protect innocence," he said vehemently. "I protect those who cannot protect themselves. I am here to promote truth, justice, and the American way. I would do whatever it is in my power to do, to be a hero."

Lois starred for a long moment, "What are you?"

He chuckled, goodnaturedly, "I am what I appear to be; I am here to help."

Lois felt her gut tighten, "History is full of people who had nothing but good intentions. I believe they say the road to hell is paved with them."

He looked at her, his expression almost unreadable, "Anyone who questions my motives simply doesn't understand them. I am here to do what is right."

Lois was surprised by her next words, not sure where they even came from, "A lot of people have tried to do what was right. Entire civilizations have been destroyed by those who thought they were doing the right thing. What makes you any less fallible?"

"Lois," he said, sounding earnest, "I know a lot more about the world than most people do. I can hear it, can see it in a way the most never will. Everyone is afraid, trying their best to get through life the only way they know how. I understand it, and I want to help them, to show them that there is something better out there than fear."

"I agree," Lois said, her voice hard. "That is an admirable desire, but anyone can know the world is in pain. It takes one look at a newspaper, a long walk down any city streets. But just because you understand that doesn't mean you are any better than anyone else at helping."

He smiled, almost wistfully, "I am sure that might be true. But I am never going to stop trying to help. No matter what happens, I will be here, ready to do what is right. Now, some people may be afraid of me because of who I am and what I can do, but I am here to say that I am a force for good."

"You came forward," Lois said. "You put yourself in this situation. Don't you feel that you owe this city, this country, the world an explanation? Who are you? Why are you doing this? Why are you here? What give's you the right to do what it is you do? What assurance do the people have that you won't hurt them, just like every man with power has in the past?"

Before Lois noticed that he had moved, his hand closed around her free one. He lifted her hand, causing her to rise. Standing before him, looking up into his eyes, she was unable to hold on to her detached professionalism. She felt her heart rocket, felt herself quiver as he held her hand, looked down on her, deep into her eyes, and said, "I am Superman. I cannot force anyone to accept me, and trying to force them to would be unjust. I want my actions to speak louder than any words I could say. I am no tyrant, no more worthy of righting the wrongs of everyday life than any other person on this planet. I just have a greater ability to. I will do what I know in my heart to be right, always."

Without looking, he stepped up and back, to the edge of the roof, their hands falling apart. Lois almost stumbled as she stepped forward, trying to maintain the contact. He smiled, once more, and said, "Good night, Lois."

With a rush of wind, he was gone.

After a long pause, Lois finally looked down, saw that the phone was still recording. She stopped it. Five minutes and sixteen point two seconds. That was it. No more, no less. She tried to understand it, trying to fit it into her consciousness, tried to make sense of the mess her mind was. She had just spent the shortest amount of time with a man she could ever remember spending, a man who was the most powerful being on the face of the Earth, and despite the fact that she was obviously easily enthralled by him, she was not sure if she believed in him any more than she did when the interview started.


	12. Chapter 12: Failure

The robbery was in full swing by the time Clark got there. He had managed to change while on route and was speeding through the streets, over the police barricade and into the bank by the time the first automatic weapons fire split the air. There were three of them, one bag man and two on crowd control. They were armed with heavy assault rifles, each wearing full body armor. Their tactics were professional, strike fear, keep the crowd reeling, and, so far, they hadn't caused a single casualty.

Clark had yet to encounter a scenario with such potential for death and violence, but he was not going to be cowed or intimidated by such men. He stopped at the bank entrance as the men gathered their money, preparing to make their escape.

"Now, gentlemen," Clark said, his voice carrying throughout the lobby, "I believe that you are preforming that withdrawal illegally."

"It's the Superman," one screamed, turning his weapon on Clark. In a matter of seconds, the three men had unload what remained of their clips at Clark. He hadn't even bothered to catch the bullets, or get out of the way. He just let them come, but suddenly realized his folly; several of the rounds that had bounced off of him still had enough kinetic energy to be lethal, and they were headed towards the civilians on the floor, behind the robbers. He was fast, but he had delayed too long and he could not go around these violent men without risking the lives of innocents.

He passed from round to round, catching each, but being forced to push the robbers aside as he did so, brushing them aside with as much restrain as he could. Still, the robbers were thrown bodily through the air, hitting walls and the tellers' counter, allowing Clark to catch up the bullets that were about to cause serious injury. As he finally caught the last round and looked up, he was disturbed by what met his eyes.

Each of the robbers were seriously injured. All had at least one fracture, two had mild concussions, and the amount of soft tissue damage they had reminded Clark of victims of traffic collisions.

Before his eyes, one of the customers that had been in terror moments ago suddenly stood and ran to one of the robbers, kicking the downed man harshly and spitting on him. A small group of the bank customers and a few bank employees gathered around Clark, giving him praise for a job well down. Several others backed away in fear, eyes averted and trying not to draw attention to themselves. As the police entered the bank, they took the men into custody, calling each an ambulance. Clark was turning to walk out when a police officer stopped him.

"You shouldn't be doing this," she said, sounding scared but determined.

"Let it go, Tony," her partner said, holding her arm.

"No," the officer said, shaking the arm off. "You don't know what you are doing out here. You think that you can show up all us cops in Metropolis? You don't got the right to treat us like we can't do our jobs and treat the world like we need you! We didn't ask you here, and we don't need you! You just put three perps in the hospital today. Are you proud of that? Are you prepared to answer for it? Are you ready for when you put someone in a body bag?"

Clark didn't know what to say, had no response. He sped out of the back, not caring what it looked like, and was on the roof of the Daily Planet in a few bounds. He stood there, thinking long and hard about what he was doing.

Why couldn't people see that he was there to help them? They were scared and afraid and he wanted to show them a better way, show them that there was a better life out there. Why couldn't they see the value in that? They had thanked him for causing pain, for injuring three men, thinking it was purposeful. That was worse to him than if they had known that he had misjudged his own actions. What if they were right, and he had no right to do the things that he did? What if he truly had no place in this world?

So lost was he in his thoughts that Clark didn't notice the altercation until the shots were already fired. He turned, leaping down among the buildings and finding the alley. The mugger was gone, but Clark could have found him if he wanted. Even so, there was no way the events that had already transpired could have been undone.

What had taken place was easy enough to see, even without the powers and abilities Clark possessed. The elderly woman was unconscious, injured but stable, her broken purse strap discarded beside her body. Lying, just down the alley, was the body of a small boy. Judging from the current development of his bones, he couldn't have been older than fifteen. He seemed tiny in death, the pain of his passing still the most prominent expression on his face. He wore a blue T-shirt, marked with Superman shield upon his chest. Through that shield were two bullet holes. From the proximity and positioning of the body and the woman, he must have been trying to stop the mugging. He must have been trying to help, and he was gunned down for his trouble.

Clark lifted the boy's body to his chest, held him close and carefully. And, for the first time since his Pa's death, he wept for the dead.


	13. Chapter 13: Truth

Lois sat at home in her apartment, a mostly empty glass and a half-full bottle of scotch on her end table, a pack of opened but still full cigarettes beside them. She was nursing her glass, wanting nothing more than to be back at the Daily Planet, not here, being lost in her thoughts, within herself.

The funeral for Superboy, as he was being called by many, had been the day before. It had been a media circus, with everyone from the mayor through a state senator showing up, each with something to say. No one had said it, but the undertone for the entire affair was clear; Superman was to blame.

Lois didn't believe that. She refused to believe it. Everyone had said the boy was a hero, and the woman he saved owed him her life, and that crime was a terrible thing and that every effort would be made to keep such things from happening again. She was simply heartbroken that Superman had not been present for the event. He had not made a single public appearance since that day. There were miraculous events that had been happening all over the country that she was sure he was responsible for, but he never made his presence known, never took any credit.

Or, she thought glumly, responsibility.

She took another sip, wishing that there was something she could do. She had not published anything about her first interview with him. She was scared that if she did, it would not be favorable for him. As great as his intentions were, she couldn't feel comfortable printing what he said. She knew that he meant well, but as perfect as he seemed to be, he was still just a man. And the man couldn't run publicity to save the world, let alone himself. And if she purposefully wrote what he said in a context that would be put it in a better light, she knew that it would be nothing short of lying. She realized that she couldn't be objective, and had shelved the interview, hoping that she may be able to use it another time.

She just wished she knew what he was thinking, what was going on in his head, and, a desire that Lois was not altogether familiar with, she wanted to listen. She wanted to understand this man who seemed as much a god as a mortal. She casually wondered if she jumped off a roof if he would stick around long enough after he saved her to talk.

As she sighed and finished the glass, she thought idly of Clark, wondering if everything was going well in Kansas. He had taken some time off and had headed back to the farm. She smiled at the thought of him completely and hopelessly lost, wearing overalls and bumbling as he tried to fork hay. The polite geeky bookworm wearing plaid and milking the cows was too much for her and she giggled to herself. Clark wondered what she was laughing about.

He stood on her roof, trying to get up the courage to talk to her. He had tried to talk to his mother and she listened and empathized and made him feel okay about what was going on, but she was no help. Lana wasn't any better, seeming as lost as anyone else would be about what he should do or how he could fix this. He felt wrong, as though he thought he knew what the right answer was, but now, he wasn't sure what the question was anymore.

He was torn. He couldn't dress as Clark and knock on Lois's door. It would be hard enough explaining that he was back in town so suddenly, let alone why Clark was having so much trouble with these issues that were so obviously Superman's. And, if he was to speak to her as Superman, he couldn't imagine how he could ever be so weak in front of her. Finally, he left the roof. After preventing an accident and taking the gun off of a kid who was about to rob a liquor store before he walked through the door, he headed north.

The fortress was just as he left it, and as soon as he was at the podium, he lifted his father's crystal and set it in the indentation.

"My son," the image of Jor-El said. "You look pained. What is the matter?"

Clark knelt before his father, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders, "I have failed, father. I am a failure. I don't know what I am doing. I don't even know what I am doing wrong. I am trying so hard to be a savior, a hero, to help the world, and I just can't do it. I am weak and a fool. I need... I need help."

To Clark's surprise, Jor-El came forth, his enlarged image shrinking until it was its original size. He alighted upon the icy crystal and placed a hand on Clark's shoulder, though he felt nothing but light upon him. In a moment, Lara joined them as well, her hand on his other shoulder.

"Kal-El," she said, her eyes and smile warmly. "You have come to the Rite."

Clark stood, looking into his parents faces, "The Rite?"

Jor-El turned, facing the open room at large, "The teachings of Rao show us the way."

Clark winced, "Father, I don't know of Rao. I was raised on Earth."

"Rao was our greatest teacher," Lara said, folding her hands with a quiet grace. "He was our god and our beacon. He was the symbol behind which all of Krypton stood."

Clark could help but bulk, "Mother. Father. I don't think I can do that. I know nothing of Rao or his teachings. I can't have faith in ancient teachings of a religion that died on a world that I never set foot upon. I have seen what such religions have done here on Earth, the pain and suffering and division and confrontations they have created."

To Clark's surprise, Jor-El smiled, "What Rao teaches us is nothing you haven't heard before, even on Earth. The ideals themselves can be found throughout all of their cultures and religions, but only the smallest amount of humans have learned to live by these ideals on Earth. On Krypton, Rao teaches us the way."

Lara smiled, her eyes twinkling as she gazed upon him, "You are afraid, my son. I understand. But it isn't that you do not have the answers you seek; you are simply blind to the answers because you are afraid. Just because you are unaware of a better way to live doesn't mean that way does not exist. If you truly wish to change, to see truth despite fear, then you must have faith; you must believe in what is beyond your own eyes and mind, and be willing to try and find it, even if it is hard."

Clark realized that this was hard. He could not recall doing anything that was truly hard for him in his life. The death of his Pa had been hard, for certain, but he had no choice in the matter, no alternative but to endure it. Every feat he had ever done as a hero was well within his ability and strength to achieve. For the first time, he felt as though he was making a conscious effort to try and do something that he had really never done before; feel vulnerable.

"I am willing to learn," he said, not sure if he knew how or if he was strong enough to actually do it.

His birth parents' images before him smiled, "Let's begin."


	14. Chapter 14: The Rite

The girl stood at the edge of the crystal bluff, her back to the mirror-like black waters, a step away from an unquestionably lethal fall. Tears rolled from her eyes, her hands clasped to her chest in deep emotional pain. Her white dress fluttered in the gathering darkness.

"Please!" Clark cried, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his entire life. His body felt as heavy as a planet, his eyes almost blind, his power gone. His impossibly slow hand outstretched, he reached and stepped, knowing that it would be no good, and for what seemed like the millionth time, the girl jumped, vanishing with a rustle of fabric.

Clark fell in the soft powdery particulates that were somewhere between snow and soil, though lacking in both cold and grit. He clenched into himself, trying to deal with his anguish. He sobbed, and finally called, "Father!"

There was a long silence, after which Clark believed that Jor-El would not appear, but finally, "What is it, my son?"

Clark pushed himself shakily to his feet, "I can't do it. There is no way. She is going to die, over and over, and I can't stop it. Help me, please! Help me stop this!"

Jor-El hovered in the air above, insubstantial as ever, "Kal-El, you were informed of the limitations of this Rite before it began. You can call upon me at any time, ask of me any question that you wish, and I will answer it, to the best of my knowledge and abilities."

Clark sighed and hung his head, "What am I doing wrong?"

His father smiled sympathetically, "Son, I have not the years to know everything you are doing wrong. And even if I did, simply telling you would defeat the very purpose of this Rite. Until you experienced the knowledge for yourself, you will not have the ears to hear it, even if I explained it in detail."

"But I can't save her!" Clark yelled, angrier than he could ever remember being. If he had his full strength at the moment, he didn't know what he would have been capable of.

"If I had my powers, I would be able to save her," he said, gritting his teeth almost audibly.

Jor-El gestured out over the cliff, "To what end? If you were able to pluck her from the very edge of death, what is to stop her from coming back here at the next opportunity and doing the same? Are you prepared to be a slave to her for the rest of your existence? Are you prepared to remain here forever, forsaking all else on Earth?"

Clark hung his head; he knew that was an impossibility. He response was bitter, "Are you saying I should let her die?"

"I am stating the truth as I knew it and asking you about your answer," Jor-El said, his voice genteel. "Your decision is up to you."

Clark's shoulders sagged, "But every decision I have made has been wrong."

"I will admit," Jor-El said, "that every decision you have made so far has not led you to your desired outcome."

"I don't know what else I should do!" Clark said loudly, fighting to restrain his anger.

Jor-El smiled patiently, "Exactly."

Clark came up short, "What?"

"Son," he said, "the exact words you used was 'should do'. There is what is and what can be. It is pointless to entertain what should be if it cannot."

As Clark looked up, the girl once again appeared at the edge. He was once again too far. Without thinking, he dove for her, reaching, "Take my hand!"

She was gone, again. As he slammed down onto the hard crystal, he found himself once again where he had started, and she had once again appeared.

"Why are you doing this, my son?" Jor-El asked.

Clark ran, almost tripping in his haste, almost falling from the cliff after the girl before everything was as it had been before.

"Why?" he asked again.

Clark begged with her, pleaded, all but screamed at her, "I have to save her!"

"Why?" the words came again.

"Because!" he said, sounding crazed.

"Because?" Jor-El came back.

Clark finally turned and screamed at the image of his father, "Because I have nothing else!"

Clark fell, his legs buckling and twisting under him. His back slammed down, and he covered his face, "I have nothing else. I have no world, no place on this planet. I have no one, no one who knows me, who could ever understand me. I am one lowly, lonely alien, who just happens to be a god among men. If I am not the hero, who am I? If I am not perfect, who will ever accept me? If I can't save those who need it, what good am I?"

"You are Kal-El," Jor-El said simply. "You are my son, of the House of El. That means only what it means to you and nothing more. You want only one thing, the same thing that every human on the planet Earth wants; you want to be accepted, without condition. Would you not agree?"

Clark sat up slowly, nodded, those his eyes were closed, his face downcast.

"What do you need to do to earn the acceptance of others?" Jor-El asked.

Clark shook his head, saying almost cynically, "Be Superman."

Jor-El chuckled, "Nothing. Acceptance is not earned. It is given, or it isn't. What reasons could a person have to not accept their fellow men?"

Clark looked up at his father's face, "Because they are afraid, or in pain. Because they are empty and alone."

Jor-El smiled, "Did you cause them to have these feelings?"

Clark felt stunned, "No."

"Then," Jor-El went on, "does anything you do have any effect on their acceptance of you?"

Clark straightened and said again, "No. They either can or they cannot."

"Correct," said Jor-El. "It is their choice, their will."

Clark looked at his hands, feeling like his entire life was shifting. He was starting to see from other perspectives, consider angles he never had.

"No," he said. "I... I haven't really been aware of my actions, what that must feel like, to them. It must have felt like I have been trying to coerce people, to force them to accept me. That really was not at all my intent."

"Others can always tell when you are not being honest," Jor-El said, "even if you are only being dishonest with yourself. They may not be aware of it, but they still perceive and resist."

"Father," he said. "Please. How can I make this right?"

Jor-El smiled, his hand alighting above Clark's shouldered, "What are you asking, my son? For me to inform you how to more aptly mislead them? The only way you can cease trying controlling them is to cease."

Clark shook his head, "But then how do I make them-"

"Kal-El," Jor-El cut him off, "you cannot make anyone do any action they are unwilling to do themselves. There is any number of ways in which you can hope to influence their behaviors to achieve a desired result, even under the guise of doing it for their best interest, but every person will always do what they think to be right, always."

"But Father," Clark said, feeling he was being petulant, "what if I know they are wrong? What if what they are doing is going to cause them or others pain or sadness? What if I know they are making a bad decision and can stop them from doing it?"

"My son," he replied, "What is correct is not up to you. Every single person that has ever made a decision that caused pain or sadness believed they were in the right. They were but making the best decision they could at the time, no more, no less. Who is right and who is wrong is only true in the eyes of the beholder and that perspective will nearly always be relative."

Clark tried to understand, "But there are some decisions that are right and some that are wrong."

"Of course," said Jor-El. "But freewill must be that; free. To truly allow others to make their own decisions, we must allow them to make those decisions especially when we know that they are wrong. Only in cases in which another asks for your advice, without you offering it, is it advisable to inform them of your views. And yet, you should only do so if you have no expectation of what decision they should make."

Clark frowned, "But what if they still make the wrong decision?"

"Then you were expecting them not to," Jor-El smiling sympathetically. "Let go, my son. Truly let go. Only then will you be capable of helping someone, for their benefit, and not yours."

"How can I help someone for my benefit?" Clark said.

Jor-El lifted up and back, "Any time that you help another so that they will accept you, so that they will like you, appreciate you, praise you, even simply disapprove of you less, you are helping them for your own benefit and not theirs. Helping when they defy you, detest you, insult you, even hate you is the mark of a true hero."

The girl was back. Clark stood his ground, feeling like he might vibrate right out of his own skin if he didn't act. Taking a deep breath and digging deep within himself, he relaxed the ironclad death grip his will had on the desire. It was so hard that it was painful, but finally, he looked upon the scene in an entirely different way.

The child stood, as before, but the idea of her taking her own life was now simply very sad and not something that needed to be controlled. The outcome would be whatever the outcome would be, and Clark found that deciding not to controlling the outcome meant that he had no happiness invested in it. If she chose to die, everything would still be alright. Something eased with Clark, his heart going out to the child, in a drastically different way. Before, it seemed to be a desperate, clutching hand. Now, it was a gentle, protective one.

"Child," he called, his voice quiet but clear over the wind. She looked at him, really looked into his eyes for the first time.

"Please," he said, taking a step forward without really thinking about it, moving closer to her only so that he might be heard better over the wind. "I can see that you are in pain. It must be a very terrible pain, and I am sorry that it has brought you to this. It would be a great loss if you were to take your own life. Please, I ask you; step away from the edge."

With a little huff, she pushed back and once again disappeared into the darkness. And Clark let her go.

And, with a surge that felt like ascending to the surface from deep water, Clark was once again in the real world. The low recline the podium had become was easy for him to stand from, after the crystals had shifted down from around his head. It returned to the podium form, and the enlarged image of his mother was suspended in the air before him.

"What does it mean, Mother?" Clark asked, thinking of the girl again. "Did I pass the Rite?"

She smiled endearingly at her son, "The Rite is not something that you pass or fail. There is a solution but no wrong answer. It is a tool, and you are not done with it. There were many on Krypton that never completed it, some still that spent their entire lives learning from it. Do not worry, my Kal-El; you are as you should be, no more and no less."

Clark smiled, feeling scared at how different he was starting to feel, "When should I come back?"

"Whenever you need to," she said with a hint of exultation. "Come when you feel you should, and when you think you shouldn't. Return when you are afraid, when you are perfect and believe that you are right, when you know you are actually wrong. Speak your truths to us, and to those in your life who can accept you because you are flaws, not despite them. You could be the Earth's greatest hero or its ultimate destroyer, and you would still, and always, be our son. No matter what."

Clark took a shuttering breath, feeling as though he was finally beginning to realize just what truth meant.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, not sure what else to say. "I will."

Without another word, she vanished. Just as suddenly, Clark too was gone.


	15. Chapter 15: Benefactor

"Hey, Lane," Mr. White called out his office door over the bullpen. "Where's your partner? I thought he was due back from his little sabbatical yesterday?"

"Hell, Chief," she shouted back. "I don't know. I can barely get two words out of the guy when we are in the same room."

"Watch that attitude, Lane," he shot back. "He's your partner. Find out. You sassy me again and I'll put you on obits for a week!"

"Yeah, Chief," she said loudly, "I got it."

"Do that later," he shouted before she could get to her door. "I want to talk with you in my office."

Lois froze. That tone and phrase meant one of three things; Either he hated a story she was writing, he was catching flack for something she published, or she was about to get canned. No matter the case, she found herself missing Clark. She would need someone to commiserate with after whatever was coming, and she was surprised at how much she missed his company this last week.

She closed the door behind herself and stood beside the usual chair. Mr. White smiled, not bothering to insist she sit anymore.

"I have something for you, Lane," Mr. White said. "A story. I want you on it, personally. I was going to say take Kent with you if you wanted, but that is going to be even more up to you. I have heard that a corporate bigwig is deciding to move his center of operations here. You know that new Techmore building that is due to open next week? Well, he just bought the whole damn thing, and he is going to turn it into some fancy, futuristic buzzword for more jobs, better P.R., and the city gets a new billionaire benefactor."

"What's his name?" Lois asked, sounding skeptical.

"Alexander Luthor," Mr. White pronounced.

"Should I have heard of him?" she asked.

Perry shrugged, "His friends call him Lex. Or they might if he had any."

Lois's eyes widened, "Lex? As in LexCorp? Bold guy? Wants to replace Wayne Tech as the nation's leading tech developer?"

"That's him," Perry nodded.

"Okay," Lois said, sounding a tad skeptical. "Why me?"

"Three reasons, Lane," Perry said, steepling his entwined fingers. "One, you're pretty-"

Lois scoffed, "What?"

Mr. White, rolled his eyes, "Stow it, Lane. This isn't men's club B.S.; it's craft. You've got a pretty face. He will see that, and then get the left hook and be off balance."

Lois smiled, "Ah. Yeah, it might be worth it to wait for Kent. The contrast would be even more staggering."

"Two," he said, "I know your style of interview, and I know you have what it takes to ask this guy all the right questions, the hard questions that most of those reporters out there wouldn't. You call it guts. I call it inexperience, but it gets the job done."

Lois stopped smiling, "And three?"

Perry stood, turning his back on her, facing the building in question. There was a trio of high tech helicopters, lowing what looked like an extra half dozen stories worth of building on top of the already finished structure. The entire glass tower was alight with an army of workers, reinforcing and upgrading and altering. It looked like an ant colony, roving over a large, downed insect.

"I don't like it, Lane," he said, sounding old and tired. "I can't put my finger on it, but something about this reeks. You do good with reeks. You have the best noise I have ever seen for finding things that stink, and something about this really stinks. So, go in, Trojan horse-like, knock him on his ass, ask the right questions, the hard ones, and find out what the hell is going on here."

"Got it, Chief," she said, shifting her weight.

He sighed, chuckling, "You're like a damn Derby horse! Get out of here, Lane. Get me that story."

Lois didn't have long to go. She got a number to dial from Mr. White's secretary and called it as soon as she was in her office. After three or so transfers, she got a professional sounding young man who said, "Mr. Luthor's office. How may I direct your call?"

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," she said, her voice almost hard next to his. "I am calling to set up an interview with Mr. Luthor."

"Ah, yes," he said. "Ms. Lane, is it? I have been given instructions in the event of your call. There will be transportation available to you shortly. What is your current location?"

Lois's brow furrowed, "I'm currently at the Daily Planet, downtown."

"Most excellent," he said. "I do believe... Yes. There is, in fact, a helipad on the roof. Our pilot will be arriving shortly."

Lois blinked. She had been hoping to have time to prepare, wear something that would have accented the off-putting, to grab Kent at the very least, but she glanced in the mirror and decided she would work with what she had.

"Alright," she said. "I'll be on the roof in ten minutes."

Nine and a half minutes later, Lois stepped out onto the roof to find that the chopper had already arrived. It was a simple civilian model helicopter with one pilot and only one other seat. She entered without hesitation, having spent a couple of rides in helicopters because of her father, and immediately put on her headset.

"What's our E.T.A.?" she said, the pilot lifting off as soon as her door was shut.

"Not long," he said, turning west. "We are meeting at LexCorp Tower. We shouldn't b-"

Suddenly, the man jerked in his seat. The chopper wobbled and lurched. Lois braced herself and turned. The pilot appeared to be seizing. With a wrenching dip, she found herself looking out a canopy of glass at the ground directly below them, seeing just how far away it was. She tried frantically to reach for her restrains and hold herself in place at the same time, accomplishing neither particularly well. She was able to find one restraint, but with a jerk, she was thrown against the door so hard that it broke open, and she was dangling out of the helicopter, dangling from that one belt over the city.


	16. Chapter 16: First Flight

Clark walked towards the Daily Planet building. It was his first day back, and he was scared. He had not gotten used to the idea of having no expectations of a situation and he was having trouble keeping the idea in mind. He knew he wanted to see Lois and Perry and that kid photographer who had been chatting with Clark every now and again, but he didn't know how to be comfortable with not wanting to feeling accepted or liked.

Looking up, he saw a helicopter lifting off from the roof of the Daily Planet, something that was uncommon but not unheard of. He was about to enter the building when something caught his attention. The helicopter was suddenly bucking in the air, erratically. He looked closer and saw that not only was the pilot having a seizure, Lois was hanging from the craft itself.

With a quick glance, he was able to see that no one was looking at him directly. In less time than it took for him to look around, he was standing on the edge of the roof, his clothes hidden away and in his red and blue.

For what seemed like an inexorable moment, he stopped. Clark felt every feeling he could, feeling every desire to leap into action, to be the savior, the hero, to be the man everyone looked to, everyone needed, feeling his place in the world justified through what he did for others. And then, he let it all go. For the first time in his life, he made the choice to save another, without any thought of himself, any expectation of what their response would. And, for the first time in his life, he moved without push or pull of leg or limb.

In parallel with Clark's insecurities, the Earth fell away, allowing him to move without step or jump, freely, soaring upwards to meet Lois. As he neared the chopper, her grip finally failed, and she began to fall. Clark, not even giving it a second thought, drip downwards and caught her, holding her to him before he shot back upwards, using his free hand to catch up the helicopter under its center of mass, the pilot finally giving in and stopped fighting the controls. Within moments, they had landed on the roof of Metropolis General.

Clark set the helicopter down with his one hand, and turned, finding Lois staring at him, still in his embrace. He let her go, and she didn't seem to notice.

"Excuse me, Lois," he said politely. "I will be right back."

He traveled through the cockpit of the helicopter, taking up the pilot in passing before he dove off the building, taking the shortest route he could to the E.R. After getting him to a bed, giving details to an available doctor, Clark was back upon the roof. Lois hadn't moved.

"Lois," he said, looking her up and down, through and through. She was not in shock, medically speaking. "Is everything alright?"

She looked at him, as though trying to understand what her eyes saw, "You saved me."

"Yes," Clark said, not sure what else to say.

Lois shook her head, "No, you don't get it. I don't get scared. I don't freak out or give up or admit defeat or anything. But, there was nothing I could do. I was going to die. And you saved me. You flew up... You actually flew up and caught me. You just... saved me."

Clark reached out. He wasn't sure why other than he wanted to. He took her hand, and looked into her eyes, and said, "I think I'm ready. To explain. I am ready to tell you it all. If you're willing, and when I can, let's finish that interview."

Lois felt as though she had been punched in the gut with a wrecking ball. She couldn't breathe, and the idea of balance suddenly felt theoretical. She didn't know what to say and just nodded, excessively, wobbling on her feet. And with one final look, Superman was gone.

Lois stood on the roof, starring at the helicopter with a hand-shaped imprint on the bottom. Something was different about him. She couldn't see what it was yet, but something was different. She could tell. And it scared her, because, before, she understood Superman. She knew that he was making bad decisions, and while she knew that, she couldn't have said what a better decision could have been. Now, she couldn't tell if he was making a bad decision, and it was frightening just how little she felt like she understood him now. Somehow, he had stepped past that line, the line in which she knew him and what he was about into something entirely new and truly unique. And somehow, she felt like he might just be capable of something she had never seen before; despite everything that she knew he could do, Lois never suspected that he might be capable of touching her heart.


	17. Chapter 17: Misdirection

The elevator was luxurious and obviously retrofitted. What really surprised Lois was that it went all the way up, considering the top floors of LexCorp Tower were not part of the original design for the building. As soon as the doors opened, she entered the lobby to Mr. Luthor's offices. Clark lumbered in after her, his suitcase almost dragging him around as he moved.

The lobby was built with the professional modern equivalent of Greek architecture, imbuing those who came forth with a sense of ascending into a realm usually reserved for deities. The metal and stonework were elegant and refined, imposing and fortified. The lighting was either natural or looked natural. The entire tone of the place made Lois sick.

They climbed the stairs, and after a brief exchange with Mr. Luthor's personal manservant, Lois and Clark were shown into an expansive top floor of LexCorp Tower, which was entirely dedicated to Mr. Luthor's office.

The stairway opened up through the floor, an almost barren space that could house most indoor sporting events. The entire space was clad in wraparound windows, save for one wall that seemed to be a large aquarium with perfectly clear water, large enough to breed tuna. At the far end of the floor was large glass desk, gleaming with innumerable displays of seemingly unintelligible data. Behind the desk, standing with his back to his advancing guests, was Lex Luthor.

"Mr. Kent," he said, turning, vanishing the information from his desk with a wave from his hand. "Ms. Lane. I am glad that you could make it."

He was a tall man, his build thick and well kept, free of the bulge associated with bodybuilding. He had intent green eyes, and hard, sharp features, accentuated by his lack of hair. His suit was expensive and well-tailored, looking to be a perfect blend of Asian and European styles. He crossed the room, passing Lois and Clark, his intent to be followed unmistakable.

"I would love to show you what we have been up to," he said, stopping in the middle of the floor. Without any indication as to a triggering mechanism, the floor before him slid upward, revealing what appeared to be a private elevator. After a deep tissue palm scan, the elevator opened and after the shortest trip Lois had ever taken in an elevator, they walked out onto the floor that reminded Lois of an Air Force hanger.

"This is our major testing facility," Mr. Luthor said, gesturing to the various divided spaces where a number of different experiments were taking place. "This particular division is testing products we are developing for the military. Over here, we are working on an electronic micro-jet harness."

The test pilot, covered in protective gear and connected to three neighboring surfaces with a length of thick cabling, was hovering off the ground with a series of ever adjusting turbines venting downwards to keep him suspended.

"Over here," Mr. Luthor continued, "we have a mono-directional sound waves generator and parabolic foci used to create sonic weapons that are so precise that they may even have surgical applications."

They passed at articulating radial disk that was rotating and shifting, cutting out sections in a thick slab of titanium.

"And over here," Mr. Luthor went on, "we are working on our molecular resonance armor."

A scientist wearing metallic silver torso armor stood as a high-speed mechanical ram smashed him in the chest. There was a heat haze in the air around him, and he was forced to take a few steps back, but otherwise, a blow that would have moved a midsized car left him completely unharmed.

"Enough with the shock and awe, Lex," Lois suddenly cut in. Mr. Luthor stopped walking.

"We get that you are a billionaire with more than enough toys," she went on, cocking a hip and gesturing. "Cut to the chase; what exactly is the point you are trying to make? What are you doing here?"

Mr. Luthor stopped. He turned back to her, looking at her directly for the first time. She looked right back, and finally, he pressed his lips, "Well, Ms. Lane, I am sorry for the confusion. I thought that you might have started digging before our interview and already knew what the primary purpose of this whole operation was about. Please, allow me to explain."

He turned and walked into a connecting hallway, Lois and Clark following.

"I would like to introduce you to the LX5," Mr. Luthor said as they entered the small, most empty side room. In the room stood three humanoid robots, looking sleek, modern, and marked with Metropolis Police Department logos. "They are too complex for mass production, but we have managed to build these three prototypes for our demonstration next week. They still need to be upgraded with some of our more advanced systems that we will be creating here in LexCorp Tower, but they are currently about to outpace even the most dedicated and commendable police officers."

Lois felt suddenly uneasy, "You are creating your own policing force?"

Mr. Luthor chuckled professionally, "Of course not, Ms. Lane. I choose to think of this as more of a stimulus package for the city. Given recent events, it is obvious the police department here in Metropolis are not keeping up with the times. What I am doing is no different than the creation of Swat. I am creating a new branch of the already existing peacekeeping organization to deal with new situations that are arising in today's world. By doing so, I am creating a new workforce, new technologies, and new branches of knowledge yet unpursued. It will benefit the city two-fold for the years to come."

"By recent events," Lois said sourly, "you mean Superman."

Mr. Luthor turned, smiling, "That is one example. We were lucky with Superman. But there is no doubt in my mind that he is simply the first. Where there is one, there is sure to be more. There is no telling what might happen to the world if others with his kind of abilities reveal themselves and prove to be less civil than our Man of Steel."

Lois arched an eyebrow, noting the nickname, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to prove that we don't need Superman."

Mr. Luthor narrowed his eyes, a look of defensive confusion, "Ms. Lane, what is the exact point you are trying to make? What I am doing will be in the best interest of everyone, including Superman. If he has proven anything, it is that there is a need in this city, in this world that is not getting met. He is doing his best to meet the demands of that need, and I am doing the same. What makes you think that this is a competition?"

Lois crossed her arms, "Just because something looks like a rose, smells like a rose, and grows like a rose doesn't mean it isn't a poisonous stinkweed."

Mr. Luthor laughed, "Really, Ms. Lane. Were you so skeptical when Superman first arrived?"

Lois could feel herself get hot in the face, "You are no Superman!"

She began stomping towards the door, hating herself for her immaturity.

"Now, Ms. Lane," Mr. Luthor said, "I was under the impression that you were going to be fair and unbiased when writing my article. If that is your final say, I believe I will have to find someone else to write it. Mr. Kent, perhaps?"

Clark glanced nervously between Mr. Luthor and Lois's retreating back, "I don't think I would be the best man for the job, Mr. Luthor."

Luthor smiled, ruefully, "I suppose not. The elevator through there will automatically return you to the unrestricted section of the building, where you will be escorted off the premises. I am sure that I will be seeing you again, Mr. Kent. Ms. Lane."

He turned and left through an alternative exit. Clark hustled to keep up with Lois.

"Of all the lousy, underhanded, manipulative-" Lois said, pacing the elevator.

"I don't think it was that bad, Ms. Lane," Clark said, keeping his eyes down. "It sounds like Mr. Luthor has his heart in the right place."

"You can still do all the right things for all the wrong reasons," she said bitingly. "I have a feeling that Lex is just putting up a front, and I am going to find out what he is up to if it is the last thing I do."

Lex gazed at the monitor, smiling to himself.

"Did it work, Mr. Luthor?" Otis asked, walking up beside him.

"Of course it did," Lex said, adjusting the glove on his right hand. "They played right into my hands."

"How so, Mr. Luthor?" Otis asked, standing straighter.

Lex turned, adopting a scholarly air, "Misdirection will always be more effective than obscurity. Someone can always find something if they look hard enough for it, but they will never believe what is worth hiding will be left in plain sight."

"And Ms. Lane is now looking for what, exactly?" asked Otis as he looked at the monitor.

Lex smiled deviously, "The man behind the mask. She doesn't realize that I am not wearing one."


	18. Chapter 18: The Night

Clark hung in the air above the Daily Planet. The night had come on fast, leaving him unseen, while the entire city was laid bare before him.

Getting used to flight had been easy for him. He soon realized the force that caused him to defy gravity had been with him his whole life, had allowed him to move at speed and cause no sonic boom or rush of wind, had let him land and leap without causing irrevocable damage to the structures around him. Once he was able to conceive of it, he could modulate its force without excessive practice. Within a matter of hours, and with minimal experimentation, he was able to fly with the precision of any other movement he could produce.

He took in everything and realized that tonight was an ideal night for what he was doing. Barring accidents or acts of unexpected violence, there was no planned crime or instance that required his intervention. It was time.

Lois's new apartment was nicer than the last, though smaller, and with its own balcony. He wasn't sure why she had moved, but he realized that it wasn't important. He checked to make sure she was home, which she was and had been every single night since he had said they should finish the interview.

It had taken more nights than Clark had intended. Every time he thought that he was ready, he had found some disturbance that had allowed him the excuse of putting it off. He felt a little ashamed of that, but all he could do was follow through in the here and now.

Lois had dressed similarly every night for the first few days, hoping, no doubt. But as time went on, her attire became more and more casual. Now, she wore little more than comfortable cotton that she likely slept in, with a blue silk robe. Clark felt butterflies, truly nervous. Taking a deep breath, he let go of his fear and tapped at her door.

Lois had been staring at the mundane TV program, not paying any attention to it. She didn't know how to feel. She knew that he would have to have a good reason for not showing up all this time, and she was trying desperately not to wallow or wonder. She hated feeling like a stood up little girl, and she was toying with just how much she would give him a piece of her mind when he finally showed. If he finally showed. She was about to go finish off the last of the pint of ice cream she had in her freezer when she heard the unmistakable tap. Even in the dark of night, the primary colors behind her glass door were unmistakable.

She was on her feet before she realized what she was doing, the remote spinning away to clatter disregarded. She turned to her living room mirror, the one usually reserved for checking her professional appearance before leaving for work, and once she had determined that her hair was at least passable and face was clean, she bolted for the door as she tied shut her robe, stopping to walk the last few steps to the handle before flicking on the light and casually turning it.

"Good evening, Lois," Superman said smiling, standing well back from the door, unintrusively.

Lois arranged her features into what she thought was an impressive show of nonchalance, "You are late."

His smile twisted a bit as he looked down, almost abashed, "I am sorry about that. If you would prefer, I can come again some other time."

He seemed to step back, and Lois found herself reaching, crying out, "Don't move!"

Her response shocked both of them. He smiled at her fluster, not moving.

"I mean," she stammered, ready to dive off the balcony herself, "You can move. Just... don't fly away."

There was something open about his expression, something that was almost vulnerable. It put her off her guard, which made her all the warier. He eyed the modest yet well-kept chairs and table she kept on her balcony, and she desperately wished she could be sure that he didn't know she bought them, as well as rented the balconied apartment, for this exact reason. She could invite him inside, but the very idea just felt way too intimate.

Politely, he drew out a chair for her, and for a wild moment, she thought of Clark, which almost made her laugh outright. She sat, taking her phone from her robe pocket and bringing up the recorder app. She started it, said the date and that she was interviewing Superman, and finally said, "So, Superman, a lot has happened since last we spoke. Would you care to comment on anything in particular?"

"Yes," Superman said, bowing his head, still standing beside the chair across from her's. "I haven't been fair to the world."

Lois raised an eyebrow, "Can you elaborate on that?"

He turned to look out over the city, then shook his head and looked back to her, directly into her eyes. He looked almost pained, and Lois felt shocked at the sudden frankness of his expression.

"I am sorry," he said, facing her fully, folding his hands behind his back and taking a deep breath. "My previous actions have-"

He stopped. He laughed at himself, looking away. Lois was at a complete loss, yet enraptured by him.

"I'm not perfect," he said, returning his eyes to her. He dropped his arms and gesturing to the city. "I wish I was, for them. I wish that I could be perfect and ideal, and could do whatever it takes to be the selfless hero this world needs. But, I'm not. I have been lying to the city and myself by omission. I have been helping others so that they will look to me for help, so that they will rely on me, so that I could have a place in this world that I felt mattered. I have been selfish and dishonest. I ask no favor and expect no forgiveness for what I have done. I did not understand my actions before."

Lois's mind was almost a complete blank. She had never expected anything like this, not at all. Almost by reflex, she asked, "But now you do?"

He smiled humorlessly, "Not entirely. I see my action from a new perspective. Because of that, I can begin to change, but, and I say this without excuse, I still have a lot to learn. About being a hero. About being a man."

Lois finally found her voice, though it quivered in time with her spine, "Some would say that it is better to have no hero at all than to have a flawed one."

He smiled, a small smile, but genuine, "Lois, I don't care. Public opinion is important and I will hear it with an unbiased ear, but I will not allow the fears and anger of others prevent me from doing what needs to be done for the good of the people. People need help. They need someone to protect them when they need protecting. They need support and someone to hear them when no one else will. They need a hero. I am not a perfect one, but I am learning and it is my intent to be a hero that does what is best for the world, asking nothing for myself and expecting nothing in return."

Lois took a deep breath, "I have heard such overtures of good intentions before. You think you know what is best for the world?"

He breathed, a look of sympathy on his face, "Of course, Lois. We all do. We understand it. But all the good in us is covered by years and years of fear, pain, and loneliness. If we could give it up, let go of being afraid and break down the walls we use to protect ourselves from the hurts our lives have caused us, we would all know what is right and could build a better world."

Lois stared, blinking, "So, what are you going to do now?"

"Everything I should have done from the beginning," he said, standing straighter. "I am going to put aside my ego and my beliefs. The world is full of people, and no matter who they are and what they want, they are worth having me accept them and be willing to sincerely help them, regardless if they accept me in return."

Lois stood up. She wasn't sure what she was doing. She needed something, to say something, to do something. She didn't know what. She just had to. She walked to the balcony and looked at the city, trying to make sense of her thoughts. Before she could accomplish it, she turned to see that he was standing beside her. He was looking at her, and something about his eyes convinced her that he was seeing her, not just looking at her. She could see him too, see that he stood before her, more honest than she had ever seen anyone before.

"You better be able to do what you say," she said, her words harsh, harsher than she realized. "It isn't enough to just say you will do something. You have to mean it."

He stepped closer to her, and suddenly she felt her emotions warring within her. She wanted to run, to flee, but she also wanted to stay, to be close, to be closer.

"I understand," he said, so close that Lois could have leaned against him. "You are afraid. You think that I am just saying what I think you want to hear, but when it suits me, you believe that I will hurt you for my own selfish reasons."

Her eyes widened, and her protests died on her lips, "I-"

"Lois," he said, momentarily dropping his eyes before returning them to hers, an act of centering rather than dejection, "I am not here to tell the world what it should do. It can accept me, or it can't. I am here, regardless. I will accept whatever the people of the world decide. Whether or not they accept me will not change the fact that, so long as it is within my power, I will always be here. For them."

Lois felt her eyes prick. She felt chagrin wash through her as she realized that she was fighting back tears. She reproached herself, wanting to pull away, wanting to hide, but she didn't. She wanted to run, to make sarcastic comments, to get mad, to lie, but she couldn't. All she could do was wish desperately that he would step forward, wondering if his lips were as hard as his bulletproof skin.

She didn't remember him taking her forearms in his hands, didn't remember him pulling her forward to stand upon his feet. All she knew is that after an immeasurable amount of time she spent staring into his eyes, she was suddenly aware that her balcony was far below. Despite slowly ascending away from the city, being so high and so far from solid ground, she felt safer than she ever had in her entire life.

"I should have asked," he said, looking down at her, as she warred with the notion of putting her arms around him. "I will return you if you prefer, but I was wondering; would you like to come fly with me?"

Lois gaped at him. She realized that he was asking her to join with him, to partake in an experience that few had ever had, perhaps none had done so willingly and with his invitation. He was offering to share himself with her in a way that no other person she knew could share themselves with her. She felt so confused, seeing him as a living god and mortal man, all at once. She felt like a little girl and the most privileged woman in the world, all at once. She nodded, "Oh yes."

It was unlike anything Lois had ever felt. She had flown briefly with him before, but she had not had a chance to understand, to see. She could feel the wind whip around her, but as she was held against him, her body against his as she streamed through the air beside him, she was somehow protected from any harsh buffets, so much so that she could stare unblinkingly.

The city seemed toy-like beneath them, small and easily accessible. Lois was able to understand what it meant to be able to move like him, to feel the world was suddenly a much smaller place. The idea of crossing town, something that normally took her the better part of an hour, now seemed as easy as taking a half step. She started to think about what it meant to be able to take a short walk that circled the globe a half dozen times. She began to understand what it felt like to be an astronaut, looking down at the Earth and seeing a whole, without boundaries or borders, without lines or divisions. The world was unified within her mind, all together, and complete.

"This is amazing," she said, feeling as though it was the understatement of the century. "Is it like this every day for you?"

"No," he said, and she turned to see him looking back at her, a wondrous look in his eyes that could only be a mirror of hers. "It is never like this for me."

She was suddenly very aware of his hand clasped with hers, extended in front of them, his other arm around her waist. Even as he returned his eyes to their path, she couldn't seem to find the strength to look away from him.

He turned upwards, and they seemed to punch through the clouds, breaking into the night sky and revealing the roundness of a perfectly full moon. The clouds stretched out all around them, like a massive sea of white mist. Easily, they slowed and came upright, Lois once again standing on the tops of his boots as he held her. They lazily bobbed through the air, drifting on the casual winds, almost like dancing.

"What is your name?" Lois asked after what felt like an age, wondering why she had never thought about it much before.

He smiled, lightly adjusting his grip upon her, "Kal-El."

Her face fell a little, as though not sure what to make of it, "That is a very unusual name."

"I guess it is," he said, saying nothing more.

Finally, Lois smiled again, "Where are you from?"

It was his turn for his face to fall, and Lois was simultaneously filled with self-reproach and intense curiosity at his reaction.

"That is a little hard for me to talk about, Lois," he said, and it was all she could do not to jump all over him, digging for answers or smothering him with sympathies.

"I am not from anywhere around here," he said, taking a deep breath. "I am not exactly from... here."

"Metropolis?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"Earth," he said, looking at her reticently.

She looked at him blankly, not comprehending.

"I am from a planet call Krypton," he said, his tone resigned. "It was destroyed quite some time ago. I was sent here in a small vessel by my parents who died in its destruction."

She stared at him, "But you look... so..."

Her eyes roved over his shoulders, his chest.

"Human," he said, his tone a little flat.

She winced, "I was going to say normal, but I couldn't. It is hard to think of you as anything less than..."

She abruptly blushed and looked away. He smiled, but it was despite the anxiety on his face. She caught it, looking deeper, her eyes and mind searching.

"What are you so worried about?" she asked quietly.

He looked away from her, taking a deep breath, "I haven't really talked about this before, not with anyone."

After a brief pause, she reached up with a hand, touching his cheek and jaw. With gentle fingertips, she encouraged him to look at her directly, fully.

"You think you're alone," she said, her words halfway between a rhetorical question and wistful statement. He said nothing.

"But," she said, "it's more than that. It isn't just that you have no one to talk to, no one to share your life with or who understands you; you think that you can't be anything but alone. You think you will always be an outsider, always be separate from this world that you are trying so desperately to protect, to save. Some part of you believes that you don't even have the right to ask us to be a part of our world."

The tender emotion on his face was heartbreaking. Lois couldn't believe that she was once again on the brink of tears but this time, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

"I know that I will never be accepted by everyone," he said, his voice low. "I understand that not everyone will be able to give up their fears and that it is not in my power or my responsibility to change that. And I am still selfish enough that I mind. But the one thing that I know to the depth of my soul is that I am here for a reason. I believe that I am here to be a force for good, for truth, and for justice, and nothing in the world or out of it will ever stop me from doing what is right for the world, no matter how hard it is."

Before Lois could decide what to say, they were diving back to Earth, the clouds swirling passed them. The speed was unbelievable and they were soon back on Lois's balcony in a matter of seconds. He was holding Lois, firmly, about the waist, her hands upon the outsides of his shoulders. He looked down at her, an almost wistful look on his face.

"You have to go," said Lois, not entirely sure how she knew.

He nodded, "Yes."

He set her down, and she reluctantly pulled her hands from his arms as he slowly withdrew his hands from her. Finally, he took a step back, up, into the air and was standing just above and over the edge of her balcony.

"Will I see you again?" she blurted, trying not to ask when.

He smiled, a genuine and knowing smile, and something about it made her feel as though he knew something she did not. The feeling didn't bother her as much as it normally did, but it made her suddenly intensely curious.

"Yes," he said. "I have to go. I can't wait to read your story."

Suddenly, just as suddenly as he disappeared, Lois felt so anxious that she forgot how to open the door back into her apartment. Once inside, she turned off the recorder on her phone, sat before her laptop, and waited until the first words finally came.


	19. Chapter 19: Expectations

Clark felt weird flying over Smallville, seeing the place he called home for so many years from such a forced perspective. Blurring into the barn, he changed into his usual clothes that he had stashed there and preceded to walk up to the house.

Martha was finishing up breakfast. Clark was surprised to see a plate at his usual place, but she was his Ma after all. He walked in and sat, and she smiled as she took the empty plate and dished up a country farm breakfast.

"It's nice to see you, Clark," she said as she sat back down with a cup of tea and took a quick sip. "What brings you out to this neck of the woods? More soul searching?"

Clark smiled around a mouthful of food that he quickly swallowed without bothering to chew, "Nothing quite like that. I want... I wanted to talk to you about Krypton."

Martha was very still. She didn't look up from her tea for a long moment, and Clark shifted in his chair.

"Alright," Martha said. Before she put her tea down, Clark finished his meal and cleaned his dish before returning to his chair. Martha pursed her lips in disapproval but said nothing. She could tell her son was on edge and forgave this rushed meal. He fidgeted, quickly and meticulously drying off his hands.

"Go ahead, son," Martha said, her voice flat.

Clark seemed to withdraw momentarily. He didn't know where to begin.

"Clark," Martha said, sitting straighter. "What is it?"

Clark took a deep breath, "This is just harder than I thought it would be. Before, I was your son and you were my Ma and Pa was Pa and everything. But, now, I have a mother and a father too, who wanted me. They didn't send me away because they didn't want me or anything; they sent me away because they had to."

Martha looked a little incredulous, "Just what do you mean?"

"I am from another world, Ma. We both know that. I think you understood it from the day I came here. But I was not sent here in a spaceship; I was sent here in a lifeboat. My world, my home where I was born, is gone. It was destroyed by a war criminal named Zod and I am the last Kryptonian."

Martha moistened her lips, "I see."

"But Ma," Clark said, leaning in, "I don't know how to feel about any of this. You and Pa raised me and taught me so much, and no matter what happens, there is nothing that will change how I feel about you. But my parents are now a part of who I am too, and I can't care about them the same way I care about you. I feel so conflicted. I don't know what to do."

Martha smiled, if brittlely, "Oh Clark. You will always be my son."

Clark frowned, "But I'm not. I'm not even human. I'm an alien. Seriously."

Martha guffawed, then stopped, "I'm sorry."

Clark stared at her, a look of shock on his face. She was able to keep her face composed for a few more moments, then she laughed out loud again. She was soon rocking in her chair, laughing uproariously. It was only a moment later that Clark realized just how absurd the conversation was, and he started laughing too.

Finally, they were in the kitchen, Martha sipping water to try to subside her hiccups while Clark was shaking his head.

"What did you think was going to happen here, Clark?" she asked. "Did you think that I was going just disown you? Hear confirmation that you were an alien and want nothing to do with you?"

"Ma," Clark said, "in all seriousness, I'm really not your son."

Martha smiled sadly at him,"Clark, you may be a lot of things, but you are still my son. It doesn't matter that I didn't bear you or that we are from different planets. I am your Ma. The universe would have to cease to be before anything could change that."

Clark felt more than a little abashed. He looked into Martha's eyes and said, "Ma. I'm sorry. I don't know. I just sort of expect this to be easier."

"Oh really," said Martha, knowing her son well enough to see that he wasn't telling the whole story. "Why?"

She gauged his response, the degree of his emotional reaction, how he tried to cover up or downplay or misdirect or adjust. And what she observed could have only one conclusion.

"You've already talked to someone about this," she said, managing to keep her tone very neutral. She really didn't expect there to be more, but Clark's reaction was almost comically extreme.

Martha's eyes went wide, "You told Lois?"

Clark was practically frantic, looking for something, anything to say or do that might change the subject.

"Yeah," he finally said. "Well, no. Superman told her, about himself. She still doesn't know."

Martha's eyes went wider at her son's tone and body language, "Oh. You like her."

"Ma!" Clark's exasperation reaching a new high.

Martha stopped needling him and really looked at her son, "Oh. Oh, Clark. You really care about her."

He bowed his head, "I don't know what to do, Ma."

"I would think," said Martha, "that telling her might be at the top of the list."

"But Ma," he said, "who do I say cares about her? Whether I am with her as Clark Kent or as Superman, I am only with her as much as I can be and no more. I can't tell her the truth."

Martha thought about everything her son had told her about his partner, "You're afraid she is going to be angry."

"And how," Clark said, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Clark," Martha said, putting a hand on her son's. "It doesn't matter how she reacts. If you hold on so tight to something, it will just fall apart. You have to let go, and it will happen if it will happen and it won't if it won't."

Clark realized that he was trying to get the outcome he wanted, that he was trying to find the right answer, trying to control Lois's decision. He let go, even though it felt even worse to admit to himself that it might fail.

"I don't think I can tell her, Ma," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I want to, but I can't be honest with her and I can't expect her to understand that."

"You know, Clark," she said after sipping her tea, "you could always just ask the girl out and see what happens."

Clark chuckled, "I think it might be a little conspicuous, don't you?"

"No, silly," she said, imagining Clark in his red and blue, knocking at her door and complementing her on her shoes. "I meant Clark could ask her out."

Clark stared at her, unblinking, "You're joking."

Martha raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"

Clark smiled, almost conspiratorially, "Come on, Ma. We both know there is no way that Lois Lane will ever see anything in Clark Kent."

Martha gazed at her son with a hard look of disapproval, "Clark Kent, don't for a second believe that you have to be Superman for someone to care about you. I cared about you long before you were the man in blue. And no matter how hard you try, down deep under all the bumbling and bland, you are still you."

Clark didn't know what to say. It was not as though he disagreed with her; he just couldn't understand how she was right.

"But Ma," he said, "I meant for Clark to be uninteresting, to not be looked at twice."

Martha shook her head, "Clark Kent may be all those things, but he still needs to have a life. People who dismiss others will dismiss you, but what about those who don't? What happened when people start asking why Clark Kent never dates?"

He shook his head,"It sounds too risky."

"It was never going to be foolproof, Clark," she said. "You were always going to have to deal with someone being more observant than you gave them credit for, someone looking a little harder than you thought they might, someone just being more capable of seeing you for who you are than you expected. And besides, do you mean too risky because you might get glimpsed, or too risky because you might fail and have no one to blame but yourself?"


	20. Chapter 20: Firsts

Lois wasn't thrilled with her ride up in the elevator. She'd been dreading it ever since she had seen the paper this morning. Her article was on the front page. She had managed to write it without Clark's help, something she was very proud of. What was less thrilling was the title Perry had chosen, completely without her knowledge; "I Spent the Night with Superman."

The tongue in cheek title had been getting her knowing looks and whispers behind hands and meaningful greetings all morning. The only person so far who's reaction she hadn't minded was the barista, who had said she loved the article and had given Lois a wistful, almost jealous look and her usual on the house.

Lois headed over to her office, finding that it was empty.

"Hey," she turned, finding the first person she could. "Olsen! Where's my office?"

The kid looked like a preschooler caught lying, "Um... It's over there Ms. Lane. Mr. Kent is there already. Apparently, you got promoted."

Lois walked over to one of the corner offices she didn't know had opened up. Clark was indeed there, but her's was the only desk in the room. She saw that Clark looked a little distressed, almost not sure how and where to stand.

"Aw, Smallville," she said, feeling sympathy for the guy. "I'm sure that you'll have a nice office yourself someday soon."

He hung his head, shook it, but said nothing.

Lois suddenly felt as though she was missing something, "What is it?"

He almost flinched, "It's nothing, Ms. Lane. It's just..."

He stepped a little closer to her, "I'm going to miss you."

Their eyes met.

"Oh Clark," she said putting a hand on his shoulder. For a moment she was surprised how firm it was. All that farm work must have paid off for him. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll still see each other every day. We are just in two different offices now. Here. I'll make it up to you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

Clark looked at her like she was an oncoming semi.

"Oh, come on," she said, her tone light. "I'm not going to bite. It's just dinner."

Something about Clark shifted. Lois couldn't put her finger on what it was, but he seemed a little different, as though something hidden was coming to the surface.

"No," he said, his voice not quite cracking. Lois was downright shocked.

He looked at his shoes and rubbed a toe against the back of his slacks,"I don't want to just have dinner with you, Ms. Lane. If we are going to go out... Lois, I want to go out on a date with you."

Lois was frozen, at a complete loss. This was the last thing she ever expected from Clark. She knew he had gone out on dates before, but she kind of got the impression he was doing it because it was expected more than he really wanted to. The idea of him wanting to go on a date, let alone one with her, was just completely unexpected. It was like Superman asking her to dinner.

After a long moment, Clark shifted and seemed to withdraw back into himself. He didn't say anything and seemed to be preparing to just walk out of her office without a backward glance.

"Yes," Lois said, shocking herself. "I will go to dinner with you."

Clark looked up at her, a smile on his face that was so genuine, Lois felt something flutter within her. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands and his usual shaky manner suddenly seemed to be suppressed paroxysms of happiness.

"Okay," he said, his voice quivering. "I'll pick you up at 7:30?"

Lois nodded, as it was the time she would have suggested, unable to keep the smile off her face, "I'll see you then."

Clark walked out, and once he turned down the hall to the restrooms, he sprung into action. Even though he was thrilled at his success, he had a job to do. There were currently three coordinated bank robberies going on, and he would have to hurry if he was going stop all three without injuring anyone.

He arrived at the first bank with very little time to spare. The robbers were armed with explosives, body armor, and automatic weapons. Clark was able to disarm them quickly, though the explosives were tricky. He finally was able to trace the trigger wires and the backup wires and cut them before removing the device altogether. He disposed of all successfully before using the security guards zip restraints to cuff them all and leave them for the police. But when he arrived at the second bank, things got harder.

The number of robbers was slightly higher, and each had a more complicated set of explosives. He was able to remove all the weapons, but it slowed him down considerably to disarm the explosives. He had to actually trigger each when he removed it, fly them each high enough over the Hob's River that it cause no damage before returning for the next, but the time he was done and had them subdued, he was rushing to make it to the final bank.

The third bank was the worst. The robbers seemed unorganized, their explosives remotely activated with complex anti-tampering mechanisms, and they had taken hostages. As soon as he arrived, Clark realized there was going to be trouble. Standing beside the commanding officer of the Metro Police Department were the three LX5s.

"What's the situation, Captain...?" he asked, looking over the bank once more.

"Sawyer. It doesn't look good, Superman," she said, glancing at the building. "They have said that if you enter the building, they will blow their explosives. We are running out of options. Short of tagging them with micro transmitters and hoping, we don't have much choice but to do what they say."

The lead LX5 suddenly stood straighter and stated in a mechanical voice, "Situation requires our intervention. Stand down. Our optimum scenario shows minimal casualties within acceptable parameters. We'll take it from here."

Clark stepped forward, "Hold on a moment. There aren't any acceptable parameters for casualties. I can get the explosives out of the building before anyone is hurt."

The LX5 stepped forward, "Unacceptable. Alpha protocols initiated. Threat level omega."

Clark saw everything as it happened, but so unexpected was the action that he could do little more than observe it. The central LX5 stepped forward, closing with Clark, it's feet extending numerous micro pili, adhering to the concrete. Once stabilized in this way, it dropped into a compact configuration, then, from its lowest segments upwards, it accelerated straight up, doing so in such a way that by the time it accelerated its fist, it had the combined speed from every motion that its body had made. At the last possible microsecond, it released its hold on the ground, leveling the full force of its weight and momentum behind that one fist, which connected squarely with the underside of Clark's jaw.

Clark had never been struck such a blow in his life. It didn't hurt, in so much that he could tell, but it was shocking, jarring. It took a considerable amount of time to figure out how to compensate the forces that had been inflicted upon him. By the time he had, he had passed through the brick of a building and through its roof, and while the forces upon him were now less, he was now corkscrewing wildly through the air. By the time he had finally righted himself, the LX5 was landing its second blow.

It shot forward through the air, propelled at a downward angle. Using micro-jets and the force of gravity in combination with its furious punch, it was able to strike Clark with even more force. But Clark was learning fast. Even though he was much faster at learning how to absorb his momentum the second time, he still smashed into another building, leaving a large cracked indentation. So far, no one had been hurt, but Clark was not going to let that happen.

He went on the offensive, using his unmatched speed to outdistance the LX5's next several blows. He was about to double back to see what was going on at the bank when it changed its tactics.

Turning to a large billboard atop a nearby building, it fired some its mono-directional sound waves out of an emitter in the middle of its chest. The narrow beam precisely lanced through the support struts, causing the whole structure to topple towards the traffic and pedestrian-filled street below. Clark dove to catch it, knowing full well that he was playing right into the LX5's hands and having no other choice.

As soon as he caught the display, he too was hit with the sound beam. At first, it did little to him, but as the intensity output ratcheted upwards, he began to feel an intense discomfort as the cells of his body began to bend and warp and attempt to explode away from his body. He set the sign back on the building where it had fallen from and decided that he was not going to end this passively.

Clark had never hit anything before, not really. He had cracked stone before, rent steel, but the closest he had ever come to using his hands to damage something was to split wood on the farm now and again. Wary of his own strength, Clark decided to use his heat-vision first, something he had a lot more experience with controlling. Unfortunately, his first blast had virtually no effect.

He had time to see what had happened. The casing of the LX5 was made of the resonance armor that Luthor had spoken of before. Each segment of armor was made from one contiguous molecule, designed with a proliferation of terminating arrays of atoms for dissipating heat. Clark tried a much higher concentration of his vision, and while the air shimmered and crackled around it, the LX5 was no worse for wear and returned fire.

Clark dodged around the shot and watched as it punched a hole through the metal framework of a building under construction several blocks away before it finally lost all its energy. He knew that be couldn't risk the people of Metropolis by dodging another.

He bolted forward, closing on the robot and landing a firm, though reserved, blow to it. The LX5 barely moved, and what little it did was quickly compensated for by the micro-jets. Clark watched as the molecule of the armor seemed to ripple with the force of his punch, almost like water, but in such a way that the ripple move all the way to the back the armor and, like the ripple made on sphere would, met itself on the direct opposite side, canceling out its own force. What little that wasn't canceled bounced back, repeating the pattern and meeting itself again in the front. Additionally, energy was being dissipated as heat the entire time. Clark was running out of options.

Ducking several blows and enduring several blasts, Clark finally constructed his strategy. He fired a series of heat vision microbursts that began to systematically trim off the terminating arrays. Now receptive to Clark's heat vision, he cut away the armor around the torso of the LX5. Once the armor was cut away, Clark landed a barrage of punches, disabling the sonic weapon and taking out the LX5's CPU with minimal damage.

He brought the robot safely to the ground, making sure it didn't fall and damage property or injure bystanders. Once the disabled robot was down, he began rushing to the bank, finding that it was all over.

"My wife," one of the bank robbers screamed. "Someone better check on my wife! She better be safe!"

All of the robbers were milling around, their explosives being removed, blankets being thrown over their shoulders, unbound and being looked after with as much care and consideration as the hostages. Clark compared the vitals from the bank robbers to that of the hostages. The similarities were unmistakable. He closed his eyes in a long blink, realizing that he had seen what he had wanted, not taking in what he really saw.

Captain Sawyer approached him in his moment of stillness, seeming to know where his thoughts were.

"The LX5s figured it out," she said, "before anyone of us. They were here under duress, their loved ones held under threat. They were told if you entered the bank, they and their families would die. They had no intentions of triggering the explosives themselves. So, as long as you were having a very public battle with one of the LX5s, you weren't in the bank. The LX5s cut off wireless communication and evacuated the bank without a single casualty. You did okay, Superman. I wasn't in the loop either, but they played us just the right way so that everything worked out."

Clark looked up, gazing at LexCorp Tower.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he said.

"He didn't destroy the LX5?" Lex asked shrewdly. "Well, it looks like we will have to use the primary contingency plan. We can't discredit him for extreme methods if he won't do any damage. What did the independent media channels have to say?"

Otis looked over his note, "Some have theorized Superman was in the loop. Some have speculated that he was handling a defunct LX5. Some have stated that the LX5s' methods were unorthodox and should be questioned."

Luthor smiled, "That last one was Mr. Kent?"

Otis checked and nodded, "Yes sir."

Luthor smirked,"Of course it was. Any news from Ms. Lane yet?"

"No, sir," Otis said, not needing to check his notes.

Luthor's face creased, "How did Mr. Mannheim's trace go?"

"It was undetected by the usual means," Otis said, checking his sheet. "But three of the four backup backtracking algorithms you designed were able to outline their systems and label their accounts. Their digital intrusions into our systems via the banks was a well thought out plan, what with using the robbers as distractions that were presumed to fail."

Luthor frowned,"Well thought out to you maybe, but they made two big mistakes; they telegraphed their every move to those who aren't stupid enough to miss it and they thought they could get away with stealing from me. Send the LX4. I want this Intergang's lieutenants hit by this time tomorrow and begin a long-term and public campaign of shutting their operations down. We're making an example out of them."

Otis smiled, "Right away, Mr. Luthor."


	21. Chapter 21: Choice

Lois was in a bad mood. She had gathered the reports about the fight between Luthor's drones and Superman, and the whole things stank to her. It could have easily gone so badly for Superman that there was no doubt in Lois's mind that Luthor had known more than he was saying about the robbery. He had dispelled any rumors about his creations being dysfunction, explaining that he had designed the system to work optimally and that he hadn't expected the robots to purposefully keep humans out of the loop. He went on to say that the incident proved that his robots worked and that there were times we would need to back off and let his machines do their jobs. Lois felt sick. If Luthor played his cards right, there would be an LX5 on every street corner within the next five years.

She pushed her work-brain to the back of her mind as she stood. She looked in her living room mirror, making sure her done-up hair was still off her neck and immaculate. Her dress was black and classy enough to not be slinky. She didn't bother with heels, for some reason preferring not to mess with the difference between height and his. Her strappy sandals peeked out from under her fluttering dress as she walked to the modest mantle and grabbed her small clutch purse. Looking at her silver dress watch, she saw that Clark should be there in about a minute. As she heard the quiet knock at her door twenty-two seconds after 7:30, she smiled inwardly. She wondered what her father would make of Clark. Between his punctuality and his notable differences from the sorts of men Lois usually dated, he might just get the closest thing to a stamp of approval Gen. Lane would ever give.

Taking her silk evening wrap and putting it around her shoulders, she opened the door and froze. Clark was standing there, his hair slicked back as it normally was for work, but the style was different, looking both more formal and very GQ. He wore a nice suit, a noticeably nicer than he wore to work, and somehow Lois got the impression that he had to talk himself out of renting a tux. He stood in her hall, slouched and pigeon-toed, a nervous smile on his face, a dozen long stem roses in his hands. Lois' shock melted away to genuine speechless flattery.

Clark stepped in, his usually nervous energy replaced with a boyish nervous enthusiasm,"These are for you."

Lois couldn't help but smile wider, "I would hope so. They don't really go with your fine suit."

Clark looked sheepish, but pleased, and somehow managed to find the vase she forgot she had and arrange them in a trice. They looked great in her living room. Lois found herself wondering if he would bring her flowers every time they went out.

"You look lovely," he said, his voice even, move even that she could recall hearing it, but still quiet and passive. Lois beamed, "Come on, Smallville. Let's go before they give our table away because we didn't adhere to your timetable."

He smiled too, offering his arm. She took it, and he carefully reached over and straightened a crease in her wrap, managing not to touch her skin at all. As they walked to the curb and hailed a cab, Lois was surprised just how steady his arm was, despite his shuffling, stumbling steps.

As she expected, they pulled up to a nice restaurant, a bit on the pricey side, but low end pricey. Clark was a frugal guy after all, even if he was practical. Her wrap was checked, but not his suit coat, and they were seated directly.

"What gives, Clark?" Lois asked, her tone a touch playful. "Are you bribing the waitstaff when I'm not looking or what?"

Clark smirked, and then an elderly gentleman in a fine suit came to the table.

"Messier Kent," he said in a thick, real French accent, "thank you for your continued patronage. It is my honor. Oh, but such a beautiful lady with you tonight!"

He bowed over Lois' hand, "You are very welcome in my establishment, mademoiselle. A fine young man you have here, eh? Now, let me take no more of your time and please, enjoy your lovely evening."

As he walked away, Lois turned back to Clark, a dubious expression on her face, "Tell me you aren't a frequenter of this particular venue with all of your other dates, so much so that the owner rolls out the red carpet for you personally."

Clark looked perturbed but quickly collected himself, "No, no! Nothing like that. A company was trying to buy out this whole block a while back-"

"Hephaestus International?" Lois interrupted. "I remember. They were trying to buy out this whole block but they couldn't move forward because one business owner refused to sell. That was this restaurant?"

Clark looked surprised, "You follow my work?"

"Of course," Lois smiled. "We're partners."

Clark frowned, "We were partners."

"We still are," Lois said, her conviction firm in her voice. "I wouldn't let Perry split us up, shared office or no shared office."

"Why?" Clark asked, not in a way that made her think he was skeptical or anything, but rather because he wanted to hear what she had to say.

"All of my best pieces were written with you in the byline," she said, glancing over as a server came with an expensive label and poured them each a glass of red.

Clark smiled at and thanked the waiter, in French, which had Lois taken aback for a moment. She was about to ask, but his next comment brought her up short.

"Your most recent article, the one that got you promoted, didn't have my name in the byline," he pointed out.

Lois flushed, almost subconsciously sipping her wine. It was good enough to give her pause before she finally continued.

"The title wasn't my idea," she more or less blurted. "I didn't..."

Lois looked around, aware just how poor a decision it would be if she suddenly expounded that she hasn't slept with someone, as she was about to do. She was just glad that she had only just started her wine when they had this particular conversation. She hadn't thought much about Clark's reaction when the article had been released. She thought he had been upset over losing her as a partner, but she had never considered the romantic implications of that until now.

She glanced at the somewhat sour expression on Clark's face,"You're not jealous, are you?"

The surprise that jerked Clark back caused Lois to guffaw, already heady with the exceptional wine and a lack of food. She managed to stifle her mirth and reach for the breadsticks as she attempted to downplay her outburst.

Clark fought a grin, unable to meet her eyes directly, "What can I say? The guy comes out of nowhere, and the way you write about him, talk about him, makes you seem... almost devoted to him. Like he is this perfect, larger than life ideal."

"He sort of is," Lois said, tearing her breadstick into small, manageable pieces that wouldn't smear her nude lipstick. "I'm not like worshiping him or anything. But I do think he is a symbol we should all get behind."

Clark seemed to deliberate before asking, "But you do care about him, don't you?"

Lois managed not to gag on the bread as she swallowed it, but only just. This was not exactly the kind of material that made for good date conversation.

"Yeah," she said, looking Clark in the face. "I do care about him. We all should. Because he cares about us. He wants what's best for the world. The least we can do is extend him the same courtesies that he gives to us."

Clark looked unconvinced somehow, as though she might be trying to spare his feelings. Without thinking, Lois reached across the smallish table and took his hand in hers.

"Clark," she said earnestly, "I have no interest in Superman. Even if we were both willing to pursue anything, what kind of a life would we be able to lead? He is the man who could save this world and I am just some underpaid reporter whose highlight of the week is writing about it. We are from two different worlds, literally. I just don't ever see that happening."

Clark managed a shaky smile, "You are more than just a reporter, Lois. So much more."

That had Lois smiling, though she wasn't sure why.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Smallville," she said, downing more wine, "but keep it up."

Clark shifted in his seat, "If you'll excuse me. I'll be right back."

"Okay," Lois said. Clark stood and headed for the restrooms. The waiter brought out two appetizers Lois didn't recognize. She was just glad neither contained snails. She noticed that Clark's wine glass was completely untouched. Her's was almost three quarters gone. She resolutely decided not to drink any more until Clark did. Wincing, he recalled the last time her date had drunk less than she had.

Clark returned from the restroom, smiling and indicating that she should eat, to which he immediately joined her.

"I can see why you saved this restaurant," she said around a mouthful of food. "This grub is great."

"I didn't do much," Clark said modestly. "I just looked into the corporation. As I did, the more convinced I was that something shady was going on. The investors sold all their stock back to the company, the only patent the company owned was for some miracle alloy, and while I was putting this all together, the company liquidated, quietly selling all the real estate they had already acquired and disbanded. I never could trace a single employee or owner. Now, no matter what I say, Mr. Bernard is convinced I am being modest. He insisted that if ever I should be out on the town, that I should come here."

Lois smiled, "So, this is where you take all your conquests?"

She meant it to sound joking, but somehow, her tone bobbled and she suddenly found that his answer was more important to her than she thought.

Clark raised an eyebrow, "You aren't jealous, are you?"

Lois's face flashed hot, "No!"

Clark was polite enough not to laugh outright, but only just, before his face became somber, "You are the only woman I have been out with since I moved to Metropolis, let alone brought here."

It seemed a vulnerable statement, and Lois cowed, "Oh. I just assumed, since you mentioned dating when we first met, that you get out every once in a while."

Clark seemed to be thinking some deep thoughts, of the past, "I moved around a lot when I lived abroad. I went out on occasion, but I never really stayed long enough for a second date. I'm sorry that what I said was misleading. There is just something about the way you talk, or, at least, used to talk, that made me so... defensive."

Lois had heard this before. She had been accused of having impossible expectations for the men in her life. She chose to think of it as having high standards. As a result, a lot of the guys she had been with had said that they often had to justify their ability to date her. However, unlike in the past, the notion that she had ever made Clark feel that way filled her with self-reproach.

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing that she had just finished her wine without thinking.

"Oh, Lois," he said, "that's not a criticism; I know you ask a lot of the people around you, but it is no more than you ask of yourself. You demand the best of everyone, most of all you. I admire that about you."

Lois felt suddenly uncomfortable. Flattery was one thing, but this was something else. He was valuing her, not just paying her a compliment. The idea scared her.

"It's nothing, Smallville," she said softly. "Now, why don't you finish up that glass and we can get to know the real Clark Kent."

Lois couldn't have been more pleased with the date. The food was great, the conversation engaging and just personal enough to be familiar but peppered with enough banter to remain casual. Clark was a consummate gentleman. He held chairs and doors, helped with her wrap and offered his arm, never once appearing entitled or asking anything of her that she wouldn't be willing to give. By the time they were in the cab riding back to her place, Lois was already wondering what they were going to do on their second date. The idea of seeing Clark in form-fitting plaid, sitting beside her at a monster truck rally, had its appeals. But as they stepped out of the cab, Lois suddenly realized that the evening was winding down and she had no idea if the date would end with a good night kiss.

Clark took her to her door, and she was almost frantic inside wondering why and how he could be so relatively calm while she felt like she was screaming inside her own head.

"I had a very nice time with you tonight, Lois," he said, and something about his tone put her at ease.

"I had a really nice with you too," she said, inwardly rolling her eyes at how corny it sounded. Clark could say something like that, but coming from her, she didn't understand how anyone could see her as sincere.

The long pause became much longer, bordering on awkward, and Lois began wondering if she could invite him in, just to avoid the possibility of a kiss. She was opening her mouth to speak as he moved in.

She was surprised at first, not sure how to react. When she had played this out in her head, she had made the first move. He stepped closer to her, but no more so than he had the entire night. He placed a single light hand on her shoulder; it wasn't clutching or possessive, but simply as though to connect to her, to validate that she was there and reassure her that he was too. He leaned in slowly, unobtrusively, giving her time to take in the moment and to prepare herself. She was a little surprised as he began listing a little to the left, but as soon as she realized what he was doing, she let her eyes flutter closed and relented with a grateful acceptance. His lips on her cheek were soft and warm, and the kiss was gentle and neat and just lingering enough to cause her heart to surge, speaking of reluctance and a patient desire to draw out the intimate act. By the time he had stepped back and she opened her eyes, she was in such a torrent of emotions that for a moment, she wasn't sure which way was up.

Clark smiled, almost averting his eyes. He said goodnight, but Lois barely heard him. He waited quietly as she fumbled her way through unlocking her door. She smiled shakily back at him, finally murmuring goodnight herself. As she closed and locked her door, she put her back to the door and slid to the floor, trying to make sense of the chaos in her head. Under it all as a deep welling of happiness that she was almost afraid to feel, afraid that it might turn sour just like it had all the times before.

And as she stood, as though her night hadn't been full enough, she caught the unmistakable primary color through her balcony window.

She opened the door and stepped out, shifting her wrap around herself my securely. She couldn't help but sigh as she pulled the door shut behind her, "Have you been waiting long?"

He smiled, "Not long."

She looked at her flats and her lips twisted, but before she could ask, he said, "I apologize for the intrusion; I can see that you had plans tonight and I understand that it is rude for me to stop by unannounced, but I wanted to talk to you and phone booths aren't exactly a regular thing anymore."

She smiled at that, deciding that he was right.

"You're forgiven," she said easily, "but you didn't really say why you're out here."

He pressed his lips, "Actually, my visit isn't professional; I'm here in a personal capacity."

Lois's eyes went wide, her heartbeats spiking. He was instantaneously before her, but still at arm's length, his expression concerned. She was impressed with herself when she didn't start at the movement. He stepped back looking put out with himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not good at this, relationships of any kind."

Lois felt her heart beginning to gallop, but for an entirely different reason, "I don't understand."

He looked equally distressed, "I do not ask for your forgiveness this time, because I may not deserve it, but I couldn't help but hear that you think that having a personal relationship with me would never be possible."

Lois felt her face flush and go blank, "I didn't-"

She started to run, to turn and walk inside, to lock the door, and move, to a different city. She wondered idly if Gotham was nice this time of year.

"Lois," he said, and the exasperation caught her up short, "please. Let me explain."

His tone was the only thing that kept her where she was, but she kept her back turned.

"I care about you, Lois," he said, and she could feel his warmth against her back, almost feel him wanting to put his hands over her shoulders. "And not just in a professional capacity. You are an exceptional young woman, and anyone would be honored to have you in their lives. But I understand; dating Superman isn't exactly practical, and there are details about my life that I can't share with you, that would be unfair for me to share with you. It isn't fair for you to have to keep my secrets. It is a burden I couldn't ask you to bare."

"I would," Lois blurted, realizing just how dumb it was to say it without knowing what she would be getting herself into, but she didn't care. "Carry them, I'm mean."

His face held a little bereavement as she turned to him in her passion, and this time he did put his hands on her shoulders.

"Lois," he said, "please. I want you as a part of my life. But we both know that having a romantic relationship with Superman would impose limitations on you that I wholeheartedly believe you do not deserve."

Lois felt so torn. On one hand, she actually liked Clark, something she never truly expected and knew without a doubt in her mind that it could grow into something genuinely good, into something she had never had before. On the other, there was this living god, this walking superlative, this mythical man who wanted her in his life, that cared for her, who had the literal world on his shoulders, who was alone save for her. She wanted to say that she didn't care, that she would set it all aside, damn the world and the consequences, and be his, with him. Except...

"I can't," she whispered, surprised she said it aloud and then mortification returning to her once she remembered that he could hear her. He looked perplexed, which was at least better than crestfallen.

"I don't mean I can't be a part of your life," she said, backtracking. "I mean, I can argue with you. I'd really like to, it's just..."

She could imagine just how hard saying it would be, his face, the distance she would feel after, the sadness, the regret. Even before she could consider saying the words, she wanted to take them back.

"I couldn't do that to Clark," she said. "He-He's a good man. Better than most... Better than anyone I've ever known. If he had your power, your strength, I have no doubt that he would be doing what you do."

She smiled inwardly at the thought of Clark wobbling through the air, bumbling through stopping a mugging. She returned her attention to the man standing before her. He looked resolved, almost satisfied somehow.

"Clark is a lucky man," he said, and she quivered with the depth of meaning he was able to put into those words.

She smiled, "I think... I'm lucky too. I just didn't get it before, but I think I'm starting to."

He smiled and began moving back from her. Again, almost unconsciously, she reached out and he stopped.

"Um," she said, almost suppressing her girlish smile. "Could you still fly me, every once in a while?"

He grinned back, "Anytime you want."

As Clark left the balcony and took to the air, the rush around him could not compare to the rush he felt within himself. He didn't know why he felt the need to visit Lois immediately after leaving her, aside from not wanting to leave her. He supposed, in retrospect, that it might have helped cement the two different personae he portrayed as two different people, but that really wasn't his reason for going. Now that he was no longer in the situation, he realized that he had been scared, that he wanted to know how Lois really felt about Clark, that he had lied to himself about his motives. The thought made him feel guilty, made him want to confess, to go back as Clark and tell Lois everything, but he couldn't. If someone found out how close the two were, Lois and Superman, her life would be so much harder. Already, criminals had proven that they would use loved ones against people they wanted to manipulate, to say nothing of the publicity, especially with the article that had just come out. He couldn't tell her, not yet, maybe not ever. It would make their relationship hard, maybe impossible, but she had chosen Clark. She had chosen klutzy, stuttering, timid Clark Kent over Superman. He would do whatever he could to be with her.


	22. Chapter 22: Knight

Lois had never dated a coworker before. She had gone out with B-something, the bartender, but she wouldn't have exactly called him a coworker, or what they did dating. At first, she wasn't sure how to act around Clark, but he seemed to have a perfect handle on the situation. After disclosing their relationship to HR and signing a waiver, he was his former formal self, other than calling her by her first name. Her insistence that she stay partners with Clark didn't go over well with Perry, but after he had Great Cesar's Ghosted his way through a rant about uppity reporters and who was the boss of whom, he relented with bad grace. After two more coffees and something new to yell about, he was back to his usual self.

By now, their routine was ingrained and comfortable. They arrived at The Planet, Clark always managing to get there before Lois, and worked, sometimes independently and sometimes on a joint story. From time to time, they would help each other find a new lead or get over a particularly bad case of writer's block. But, no matter if they were out of the office or working separately, they always had lunch together, unless one of them had a lunch interview, after which they would usually meet before returning to work. After the day was over, Clark would usually escort her home unless either of them was working late. Every Friday was date night, and Lois had already found that her mental image of Clark in plaid didn't do him justice; he looked totally at home, completely and comically himself, and something about seeing him so casual gave her butterflies.

On this particular evening, she was working late with Clark when Perry burst in, "There has been another one!"

Lois looked up from the article they were putting together about the charity event the Mayor was putting together to retrofit the city's homeless shelters and free clinics that Superman had already agreed to attend.

"Another what, Chief?" Lois asked, standing straighter.

Mr. White frowned, "I hesitate to you the term vigilante for Superman, but I certainly wouldn't exactly use the term hero for this new guy."

He pulled out a tablet and turned it to display a video of a young man who was walking the street, apparently being filmed from the first person perspective by one of his friends. From the voices, there were three or four of them.

"Is the link up?"

"Yeah. I got it. Do you think we will actually get him this time?"

"Tommy said he filmed him a few weeks back, but he did something that fried his phone."

"Man! I don't want to lose my camera!"

"Dude, it will so be worth it! You'll be the first to video the freakin' Bat!"

"You all are full of crap! There is no way this thing is real. It's just like the phantom hitchhiker or the alligator that lives in the sewers."

"You mean an Urban Legend, you halfwit."

"Yeah. I mean, shut up!"

"Let's go, man! We'll find out soon enough."

The video cut a rooftop, the young men jumping from building to building. After a few moments, one said "there!" in a hushed whisper. They moved to the edge of a mostly flat roof and looked down. Below, there was a group of gang members, looking like they were trying to roll a drug deal. They were firing guns and taking cover, and in the midst of the fighting, none of them noticed the shadow that landed behind one of their lines, silent under the sound of gunfire.

The shadow couldn't be seen clearly in the low-resolution digital camera with a low compression rate, but it was clear that whatever the shadow was, it began incapacitating everyone below, one by one. Finally, after all were downed and the police sirens could be heard, the shadow flew upwards, heading right for the cameraman.

Whatever it was, it landed on the edge of the roof, all the young men diving backward. For a couple of seconds, there was a clear image of the Bat. It appeared to be a man, wearing a cape that covered all of his visible body. The head was jet black with two pointed ears. He reached a hand out from under the cape, and the video abruptly ended.

"They are calling him the Batman," Perry said, collecting the tablet. "They say he has been operating in Gotham since shortly after Superman made his first appearance, but he might have been active since even before then. I want you two on the next flight to Gotham. It only seems fair that the reporters who broke Superman should break the first serious piece on the Batman as well."

Lois turned to Clark, who was staring off into space. She was about to say something when he turned back towards Perry, "I don't think it's a good idea, Chief."

Perry looked as though his coffee cup had just started doing a song and dance number, "What was that, Kent?"

Clark looked Mr. White in the face, though indirectly facing him, "Superman was our story because he was here, in our city. He was our story by chance, but maybe because we needed him to be. This Batman is not here. He is not in our city. I don't think he is for us. I wouldn't feel right discounting every single reporter at the Gotham Globe and the local Planet just to act like a pair of hero hunters."

Perry had closed his mouth, but he didn't move for a long moment.

"What do you think, Lane?" He asked. Lois frowned, "I agree with my partner. Even if Superman hadn't first appeared in Metropolis, he was still a national story. This Batman isn't national news. When he goes national, we'll cover it. Until then, we should stay where we belong."

Perry shook his head, "Since when did you two start making so much damn sense? If I didn't know any better, I would have thought that you were reporters."

They didn't work for very long after Perry left. They were derailed by the news of the Batman, and continuing to try and work would be helpful to no one. After Clark saw Lois home and kissed her cheek goodnight, he flew out of her building the moment her door was closed.

He changed until his red and blue as he left the city. Leaving his briefcase with his clothes on an out of the way cleft on top of the tower of a suspension bridge on the edge of town, he moved up to the appropriate altitude, pushing his speed up to its highest end and was hovering over the streets of Gotham in a matter of moments. After a quick scan of the city, he found exactly who he was looking for, apparently waiting for him.

He stood on the back of a gargoyle, a modern looking monstrosity that was worked into the corner of the architecture of a major high rise. Clark was able to inspect him at length in the time it took him to cross the city and hover before him.

The uniform he wore was a work of technology unlike anything Clark had ever seen outside of LexCorp. It was a balance of high-tech ceramic armor, carbon fiber Kevlar, and some kind of non-Newtonian gel. The belt was full of a number of gadgets and passive weapons, everything from gas pellets and grapple guns to bugs and tracking devices. The mask was inlaid with a number of visual display augmentations, as well as some kind of alloy that made discerning the face behind it all but impossible for Clark.

He stood tall, his cape fluttering in the wind, mirroring Clark's as he hung in the air before him. The two seemed to lock eyes, continuing to gaze at one another for long minutes after Clark's arrival. Finally, Clark spoke.

"I thought that we might take this opportunity to meet," he said. "It looks like you had a similar idea."

When the Batman spoke, his voice was deep, slightly graveled, "You're an alien."

Clark hovered for a long moment before speaking, "I believe that there was a newspaper article to that effect."

"People lie," the Batman said. "Evidence can be fabricated, data altered. But you aren't human, and your abilities aren't a clever trick or technological artifice. My sensors don't lie. For all intents and purposes, you have been honest so far."

Clark observed him, his eyes, his heart, his breathing, "You let the video get leaked. You lead me here."

The Batman didn't move. Clark did, landing on the roof beside him.

"You could have just asked," he said.

"You could have said no," the Batman said.

Clark looked again, reached out with his senses, really paying attention.

"You are unafraid," he said, allowing the other to know what he saw and thought. "Brave. You are strong for a human, somewhere between a gymnast, a soldier, a martial artist and a bodybuilder. You have been injured many times. I count twenty-three healed fractures, not including any that might be in your face, seven major soft tissue injuries that are less than a year old, eleven scars from cut or stab wounds, what looks like a large animal bite and two old bullet wounds. It is obvious that you have been working at this for years. I can't even calculate the cost of the technology on your person. The time, the expense; why are you doing all this?"

There was a short pause, during which time the Batman's breath slowed momentarily. With a precise tone and careful words, he said, "I made a promise, a long time ago. And I am going to keep that promise."

Clark considered, carefully, "Why did you bring me here? There must have been a reason."

The Batman turned to look over the city, his stance solid and grim, "I brought you here to warn you. I have information that you need, important information, about what is going on in your city and what is going on in my city and the world."

Clark stood beside him, "I'm listening."

"First," he said, "Something has been going on in Metropolis; I haven't gotten a fix on what it is exactly, but there appears to be a criminal organization that is trying to figure out how to subvert you with technology. They are using burner phones and codes, never speaking aloud when forming plans. From what I can tell, they are working their system hard; using programs to organize their drug rings and deliveries, contracting violent behaviors to local gangs or subverted third parties."

"The bank robbers," Clark said as it dawned on him. "They attempted to use hostages to rob a series of banks."

"That was one of their operations," said the Batman. "I am still putting the pieces together, figuring out what their aims are. Though they are well organized, they are only moderately creative. It will only be a matter of time."

"Thank you," said Clark. "The other?"

"It's escalating out here," said the Batman. "The criminals in my city are changing. Some are using theatrics and costumes to inspire fear, but others have started displaying abilities. Metahuman seems to be the term used most by those in the know, and they are appearing more and more, all over the world. There may be more of us in the future, those with the powers and the abilities to help those who cannot help themselves. And, there will be others, individuals who will use what they can do to their own ends. You should be mindful and prepared."

Clark felt momentarily uneasy. He thought about his fight with the LX5. He may have other fights like that again, maybe even harder ones. Maybe Luthor was right; maybe there really was a need for the LX5.

"Again," said Clark, taking a deep breath, "Thank you."

The Batman stepped to the very edge of the roof, "One more thing; this is my city. You can come here to contact me, but otherwise, stay out of it."

Clark crossed his arms, his expression closing a bit, "I understand that I have no right to make your decisions for you, but I will let you know, if your actions become contrary to what is in the best interest of the people, in your city or out of it, I will stop you."

The Batman pulled a grapple from his belt and pointed it upwards, "If I ever do, I would want you to."

Clark was taken aback; that was not the answer he was expecting.

With the subtle whine of an electric turbine engine, a black plane shooting by overhead. The moment before it passed, the Batman fired his grapple. The plane caught the extended filament, pulling the Batman up into the air and away. Clark did him the courtesy of not tracking him. After a brief moment, he realized that, as contrary as his methods seemed to be, Clark might have made an ally. And, if the Batman was right, in the days ahead, he might need one.


	23. Chapter 23: Frustrations

The knock at the door was unexpected. Lois had said good night to Clark not more than an hour before, and he definitely would not have returned without informing her. The only other regular visitor she had used the other door, which was just depressing now that she thought about it. Her momentary pity party while reflecting on how sad her social life was kept her from checking the peephole before opening the door.

"Luce!" Lois cried, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She hugged her kid sister as they both burbled with enthusiasm, "I was in town, and I just had to-"

Lucy stopped and looked around the apartment, "Lois?"

"Yeah?" Lois said, nonplussed.

Lucy smirked at her, "Dish. Who is he?"

Lois raised an eyebrow, "He who?"

"Oh, don't give me that, Lo," she said. "The only clothes in this room are on you. I haven't seen you do that since your freshman year of high school when you snuck that senior quarterback up to your room. What gives?"

"Nothing," Lois said.

Lucy's eyes went wide, "Lo, are you... blushing?"

"No!" Lois said, matching towards the kitchen. "Can I get you a drink? Nonalcoholic."

Lucy was in hot pursuit, "Lemonade, and are you serious? Who is this guy? I'm your sister; we gotta talk guys or the guys win!"

Lois couldn't suppress her, pouring the drink in a chilled cup from the freezer. Sometimes, she really loved her brat sister.

Seeing the change in her face, Lucy bounced on the stool, "Yes, dish! Do we need drinks?"

Lois rolled her eyes, "It's a hard lemonade. You tell the General, and I sabotage you socially. Again."

After pouring her own drink, the two girls strewed themselves onto the couch, legs curled and glasses close to hand.

"Who is he?" Lucy said, the anticipation almost strangling her.

"Well," said Lois, "he isn't exactly the typical guy I usually date."

"What do you mean?" Lucy said, looking wary.

Lois smiled, her thoughts moving over the image of Clark in her head, "He is quiet, polite, kind, humble, gracious, simple, honest, and earnest; basically nothing like anyone I have ever dated."

Lucy looked confused, "How long have you been dating this guy?"

"A few months," Lois said, sipping.

Lucy looked around the place, her question drawn out, "Really...?"

"No, I haven't slept with the guy," Lois said, then added. "With Clark."

Lucy dropped the glass, which only didn't spill because she hadn't already emptied it.

"Clark?" Lucy asked. "Clark? As in, the Clark? Your partner, Clark? The Clark that you said was so-"

"Yes!" Lois cut in. "Yes, that Clark."

Lucy looked around, "And you're sure he isn't gay?"

"Luce!" Lois expounded. "No, he isn't gay!"

"Are you sure?" Lucy asked again.

"Yes," she said. "One of the waiters at the French restaurant we go to confirmed it for me. He's straight."

"Then why?" asked Lucy.

Lois thought about it, "I'm not sure. Clark is an old-fashioned guy. He holds chairs and doors, offers his arm, and has always been a perfect gentleman. He doesn't run plays or have moves or use lines. He is just himself, and I am comfortable with him, more comfortable than I have been, practically ever."

"But you're not having sex," Lucy said bluntly.

Lois frowned, "Is it really that obvious?"

"Besides your place," Lucy said, "you are wound tighter than a Steinway."

Lois sipped, "He hasn't kissed me yet."

"What?!" Lucy gawked.

"Well, sort of," Lois said. "He has kissed me on the cheek, and in some ways, his kiss has been more intimate than some of the make-out sessions I've had. But that is as far as it has gone. If he were one of the guys I have dated before, I would keep a six pack in the frig and wear tight pants and a low cut top and the problem would solve itself. But, it's Clark. I feel like dating Clark is like trying to speak a different language or something. I just don't get what to do next because I don't speak Clark."

Lucy smiled, "You are afraid you're going to screw it up."

"No!" Lois said loudly, then quieter, "Do you think I will?"

"Talk to the guy," Lucy said. "You said he was honest. Ask. He is probably just as confused and frustrated as you are."

Lois snorted, "If he is, he hides it well. I swear, seeing him in tight plaid when we went to monster trucks was almost too much for me to handle."

"You took him to monster trucks?" Lucy asked. "You?"

"Yeah," Lois said, "So?"

Lucy shook her head, "You have never taken a guy to monster trucks."

"I went with Wes," Lois said defensively.

"Doesn't count," Lucy said. "You had already slept with him, and you had crushed on him for two years before that, and besides, he took you and it was the first time you ever went."

"Fine," Lois said.

"You really like this guy," Lucy said.

"Yeah," Lois said, "I really, really do."

"Enough for him to meet the General?" asked Lucy.

Lois balked, "I haven't prepared him yet. We will cover that after we have been dating for five months."

"You think this guy is going to go the distance?" Lucy said, sounding awed.

Lois smiled, "I don't know. For now, it's good. I feel very safe with him."

"I know you, Lois," she said. "You don't do well with safe. Safe either means you get hurt or you get bored. You just can't be complacent, and the whole thing will fall apart. Please don't take the guy for granted. I can tell you really like him. I would hate to see you get hurt."

Lois smiled, "When did you get all Dear Abby on me?"

"Self-help books," Lucy said. "They do wonders. Do I get to meet him?"

"Sure, Luce," Lois said. "Just don't interrogate him. I'm sure he will get enough of that when he meets the General."

"Good," Lucy said. "But talk to him first; I don't want to meet him while you still have this whole thing hanging over you."

"Okay, Lucy," Lois said. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. And thank you."


	24. Chapter 24: New Connections

Clark looked down at what was left of the warehouse door, the crime scene tape fluttered in the light breeze. The police were already in the mopping up phase; the pictures were taken, the evidence was cataloged, the bodies were being transported to the morgue. It was a mess.

The attack had been violent, brutal in a way that was clearly something more than human. The door was broken through, metal rent and bowed. Any weapons found had been broken and smashed. The bodies that had been found were just as damaged.

Clark landed silently outside the tape, in plain sight, and waited. He knew that would only take moments.

"Hey!" an officer called, a detective. "Hey, you!"

Clark turned and faced him directly, but kept his posture neutral.

"I want to have a word with you," said the officer, sounding belligerent simply by breathing.

He didn't get far before Captain Sawyer stepped in between.

"That's enough, Dan," she said. "Get what's left of those cell phones and laptops back to the I.T. Department. I want what is left of them on my desktop by Monday."

"Cap," he said.

"Now, Turpin," she said firmly.

Turpin turned back to his vehicle, grumbling.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Clark said.

"Not at all, Superman," she said. "Good to see you again. I'm now head of Metropolis' Special Crimes Unit. We formed shortly after that bank robbery. I wasn't the only one who didn't like the idea of Luthor started putting robots on the streets and said he could do our jobs better than we can. We handle anything that happens in the city that is outside of what some might call usual crime."

"Good," Clark said, nodding. "I need all the help I can get. I am not here to replace anyone. I'm just here to do my part."

Sawyer looked at him for a long moment, "Do you have any idea what happened here?"

Clark shook his head, "I haven't been able to gather any more information that you have, Captain."

"Seems like a situation that could have used you," she said. "Any reason you weren't here to stop it?"

"I was out of town," Clark said, trying not to sound defensive. "Tsunami in the Philippines. Is there something that you would like to say to me, Captain?"

"No," she said. "I have a nose for people, Superman, and I get that you are here to help; I really do. But I also know that you are here, specifically here, after the fact, for a reason, and if you aren't up front with me, I will take you in for obstruction."

Clark could see by the set of her jaw and the sound of her tone that she was completely serious.

"I have reason to believe that this was a hub for Intergang," he said. "I have been trying to narrow down its location for a few nights now."

Clark had discovered the small tablet over a week previously, hovering in the sky over Metropolis in a small UAV. It had responded to his touch and, after a quick scan of his face, gave him access to a large quantity of information on the so-called Intergang. Unfortunately, they covered their tracks well, and though the information was complete, in total, it really was nothing more than a trail of breadcrumbs.

"That is what we thought as well," Sawyer said, watching as they wheeled a stretch out of the warehouse. The individual beneath the white sheet was in two pieces.

"This is the second hub that I have just missed tracking down," Clark went on. "The second one to be hit while I was indisposed elsewhere. If I didn't know any better, I would say that it was done that way purposefully."

"That is troubling," Sawyer said. "I am sorry to mislead you, but we already knew you were out of town. As much as I trust my gut about you, this was something that you could have done, and I had to do my due diligence."

Clark nodded, "I understand completely. Is there anything you found on your end that might help me?"

"Nothing especially interesting," Sawyer said. "The place is a mess, but there isn't anything to suggest that we will find much in the way of evidence of our attacker. All the hardware we could find was damaged beyond simple repair, but from the dust, we know that some got taken, for reasons we don't know yet. From the looks of things, it seems to me that they marked someone else's territory, and the other side wasn't all too happy about."

"A rival gang did this?" Clark said, looking at the destruction just feet away from them.

Sawyer looked up at him, "Considering you just flew onto my crime scene, I am not ruling anything out. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck; even if this particular duck is six two and can bench press a mack truck."

Clark nodded, "Captain, if there is anything I can do to help, please, let me know."

"I appreciate that Superman," she said. "Have you looked over the scene, seen if we have missed anything?"

Clark looked again, "The attack, aside from being one-sided, looks as though there was only one suspect, with only one point of entry. As violent as the victims' injuries were, they were only inflicted by one assailant."

"Do you know of anyone or anything that could do this kind of damage?" Sawyer asked.

Clark shook his head, then paused, "Where were the LX5s when this happened?"

Sawyer frowned, "Their trackers logged them in storage, with corroborating video surveillance."

Clark nodded, "Good. Then I have no idea. I will keep an eye open, see if there is anything worth looking into."

"Thank you, Superman," said Sawyer and they shook hands. "How can I get in touch with you?"

Clark smiled, "You can call me on police radio. If I am available, I will find your nearest office or find you directly."

She nodded, "Good. Swing by the station anytime. I can't get you on the payroll, but I can offer you a doughnut and we can always exchange information."

"Will do," Clark said. "Thanks again."

With that, Clark soared upwards.

It was getting late. Lois would start to wonder where he was. It was date night after all. He had chosen last week, so it was her turn to pick the activity. So Clark, dressed in the button up shirt, slacks, and a suit coat, was at Lois's door with about a minute to spare.

Lois answered in a velvet dress and pearls, her hair more styled than it had been in since they had started dating. Clark looked suddenly distressed.

"I'm underdressed," he said, looking perturbed.

She smiled, "You look fine."

He kissed her cheek and her lips twisted.

"Where are we going?" he asked, and she smiled, "It's a surprise."

They got a cab and were soon dropped off before the Metropolis City Opera House. Clark was momentarily taken aback. He knew a lot about Lois, but she had never shown any interest whatsoever in opera.

The night was enjoyable, certainly, if very unexpected. The show was beautifully done, and the vocals were exquisite, but Clark found himself watching Lois much more than the stage, trying to see any sign as to why they might be here. In the end, the show ended, and Clark was no closer to discovering the answer. After a quiet cab ride, and a brief stop so that Clark could pick up flowers for her, they returned to Lois's apartment.

"Won't you come in?" Lois said, and there was a certain stiffness to her words, almost as though she was reading from a script.

Clark smiled and stepped in, holding her flowers as she found the usual vase and placed them within. She placed them on the table and held out her hand, "Come with me?"

Clark looked at her almost warily, "Where are we going?"

"Just to the balcony," she said, her voice light, but a forced lightness.

Clark took her hand and they made their way out into the night.

"It is a lovely view from here," he said, and upon seeing that his eyes were on her, she beamed, sincerely.

She walked to the railing, and Clark moved up beside her. After a long pause, both looking out into the night, Clark finally spoke, "Lois?"

"Yes, Clark," she said, her voice a bit breathless.

He shuffled his posture and gave a few nervous jitters, "I don't want to seem obtuse, but I couldn't help but feel lost. Why did we go to the opera tonight?"

He watched as her face seem to lock down, her expression closed to him. He was suddenly very concerned. Lois had never acted like this before.

"Didn't you enjoy yourself?" she asked, her voice that stilted tone again.

"Lois," he said, his voice cajoling, "I enjoy every date I go on with you."

Her expression went almost blank, and Clark listen and watched; she was preparing herself, her body all but entering fight or flight.

"Lois," he said, this time his tone pleading, "What's wrong?"

She seemed to deflate before his eyes. She bowed, sighing heavily before giving a brief chuckle. She turned and walked three steps towards the door, then stopped, much as he had seen her do that last time they were on this balcony together.

"I don't know," she said, her eyes closed. "I guess, I just wanted to do something impressive. Cultured, you know? I guess some part of my brain thought that if I did something more your speed, the sort of thing you might enjoy... I don't know."

There was a long pause, and after a deep breath, she said, "Clark, do you want me?"

"Of course I do," he said. "What are you talking about?"

"No," she said, and she turned. There was something in her posture, her bearing that was so very Lois and yet was something that he had never seen in her before. Her hips shifted, one shoulder dropping languorously, her head began to roll slightly back, her chest heaved and her skin flushed, heat running all through her, her breath ragged, her pupils dilating, her lips parting, "Do you want me?"

For a moment, Clark looked totally serious, almost dire to her, but as Lois watched, she could almost see him morph into the nervous schoolboy from the day they met.

"Lois, I am not sure what you are getting at," he stammered. "Really, I am sorry. What would you like me to say?"

She felt the heat in her quench like orange steel in cool water.

"You could start by telling me the truth," she said, passion creeping into her voice. "I don't want just this; I care about you and I enjoy the time we are together beyond the telling of it, but I am a woman. Do you have any idea how much I just wish you would touch me, hold me, really kiss me?"

Clark lowered his eyes, his face genuinely conflicted. For a moment, Lois didn't know what to make of it. Finally, he spoke.

"Lois," he said. "I am afraid."

She was not prepared for that.

"I've never been... close, with anyone before," he said, his voice quiet and vulnerable.

Lois's eyes bugged wide, her lips parting again. She really wasn't expecting that.

"Oh," she said, her voice finally melting, "Oh Clark."

His eyes stayed downcast, but she came forward, placing a hand on his arm, still, always taken aback by how solid he felt.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," she said, and to her surprise, the conflict returned to his face.

"It isn't that," he said, his voice a little louder. "Lois, I don't know if I can do this."

Lois felt like she had been caught in a trap, as though the air had been sucked out of the world, as though her eyes forgot how to blink.

"Lois," he said, finally looking into her eyes as he took her hands in his warm ones. "I haven't been exactly honest you. No. I haven't been honest with you. I have lied, by omission. I can't tell you why. There are parts of my life that I can't share with you. And, because of that, I am afraid that we can't ever be more than what we are."

She looked at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of her emotions. She finally came around to simply feeling hurt, "Don't you trust me?"

"It isn't a question of trust," he said. "If it were, I would tell you this moment. But I can't ask this of you and I can't explain."

Something about this was seeming awfully familiar, but Lois was having trouble forming thoughts, "What does this mean?"

Clark looked at her carefully, "It means this; this is as honest as I can be with you, right now, maybe forever. I am not going to tell you everything about me, and I can't promise that will ever change. This is how it has to be; this is my choice. Now, you have a choice to make as well. Am I enough for you? Is this enough? Knowing what that this is how it is going to be, with me, do you want to stay with me?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he put up a hand, "Please; this is important. Really think about it. I can't be honest with you, and I will not even explain why. If you can't accept that, I understand. Not many would want to stay. I don't know if our relationship can move forward, or what it will mean if it does. But if you need this to end here and now, to make me the bad guy so that you can move on and be happy, I have given you a good excuse. You bare no blame, and I will not hold it against you."

She looked at him for a long moment, tears in her eyes. This was not the direction she wanted this conversation, this evening to go. Even in her worst imaginings, she didn't envision this.

"Clark," she said, her voice almost breaking, and making her sound like a little girl. She hated herself for a moment, wishing that she was not so weak, that she didn't feel like she needed him. And like that, she found her voice. Like a switching flip, she stood straighter and stared at him, "No."

"No what?" he asked, confused.

She shook her head, her tears falling but her eyes were suddenly dry, "No to all of it. What? You think that you can put up some walls, just push me away and what, I will walk, just like that?"

Clark looked a bit startled.

"No," she said. "Clark, I don't care if you're scared. I don't care if you think you can't tell me everything. But I am not just some girl who bolts at the first sign that things might get tough. I live for tough. And I am not going to sit idly by while you flush this away because you are scared. Screw that, Smallville! You aren't getting rid of me that easily! You're too damned worth it!"

Clark didn't know what made him do it. He felt like something pulled him to it, as though he had no mind of his own, no choice. He pulled her to him so quickly, she gave a little gasp. He lifted her to him, clutching her to him as he stood straight, holding her to his height. As their lips met, Lois was lost. His warmth, his strength, his arms, his body, his breath, his everything, him. She was completely gone.

Clark set her back on her feet, bending so that he was closer to his usual height, but not quite so short. Lois stood there, her hands upon his arms, her eyes wide, her mouth hung open.

"Lois," he said, nervously. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, seemed to collect herself, "Yeah. Yes... Clark. I'm fine."

It was several moments before she could do more than stare at him. Clark was concerned by just how close she seemed to be from going into shock. Finally, her breathing returned to normal and she said, "That was some kiss, Smallville."

"Yes," he said, smiling shyly. "It was."

She beamed, "Okay. I get it. I mean, I don't understand, but I get it. Just, do me a favor; no more of this leaving me for my own good tripe. I would rather make my own decisions, thank you very much."

He nodded, relenting.

"Good," she said, crossing her wrists behind his head. "Now, where were we?"


	25. Chapter 25: Help

Clark's trip to the halls of his homeworld was quick, even by his standards. He needed to talk to his father. He was struggling, and he felt the need for guidance. He came to stand before the crystalline podium and placed his father's crystal in the recess, his enlarged image appearing before Clark.

"Kal-El," Jor-El's voice boomed. "Come. Speak."

"Father," Clark said, suppressing a sigh. "I am frustrated. I need some insights."

"Would you like to enter the Rite?" Jor-El asked.

Clark shook his head, "No, father. I am having trouble accepting people, understanding them. I need help to see another perspective."

Clark was surprised when his father vanished, and the light trace to his mother's crystal.

"My son," she said once she had appeared, smiling. "May I help you?"

Clark nodded, "Please."

Her image re-sized itself, and she came to stand beside Clark, "Tell me what weights upon you."

"I am not doing enough to help that world," he said, looking at the cupped hands he held before him. "I recognize that I cannot expect others to choose as I would and that I have no right to try and control what others say and do, but how can I stand by and do nothing as human- as people hurt and murder each other? How can I allow others to choose their own death and the deaths of others? If I truly want to be a force for good, how can I change the world if I am not to act upon it."

"Kal," she said, smiling sympathetically, "these are indeed heavy questions, but they are not beyond your understanding. First, why do you want to change the world?"

Clark lingered, considering, "I see the pain in the world. I want to end it if I can."

She looked at him, a deeply maternal look on her face, "Do you truly believe that you can end all pain in the world?"

Clark chuckled, smiling sheepishly, "No. I suppose not."

"Then what do you want?" she asked.

Clark paced for a long while, thinking it over, finally, he turned back and said, "I want the world to be different. I want there to be less pain and more happiness."

She nodded, "You want the world to be easier, more convenient."

"Yes," Clark nodded, though reluctantly, "I suppose so."

"This is not an uncommon desire," she stated. "We all want our lives to be simple, uncomplicated, requiring little effort or energy. We want to believe that if life were that way then we could be happy. But, that is a lie; if tomorrow, all hardships were to vanish, all necessary responsibilities were relinquished, all our needs to survive were met, we would still struggle, hurt ourselves and one another, and be woefully unhappy."

"Then," Clark said, crossing his arms, "what can I do? How can I help people if we are all ultimately unhappy?"

She smiled, "By showing them another way."

Clark shook his head, "But I thought that I wasn't allowed to choose other people's choices for them."

She laughed, "Your answer is revealing."

Clark's eyes widened, and he sighed, "I am still trying to control them, aren't I?"

"You are too focused on the theory," she said, "the logic of it. You need to get out of your mind and enter their world. Find someone who is in need of help, one who is afraid, who see's no other choice. Help them. Are you prepared to try and accept them, with no thought of any benefit for yourself?"

"I think I might," he said.

She stood before him, her hands hovering to either side of his arms, as though to hold his shoulders, "Kal; tell me."

Clark breathed, "I am afraid of failure."

"Why?" she asked.

Clark looked at the ground, "Because if I fail, I believe that I won't be accepted."

"So," she said, "if you want to avoid failure..."

Clark looked up, "Then I avoid trying."

She nodded, "You stay stuck in your head and do nothing. But, your fear is a lie. If you fail, I will still accept you. There are others in your life who will still accept you. Your fear keeps you trapped, keeps you from seeing the choice to do the right things, makes you believe that you have no choice. It is the same for those who hurt and kill and are stuck in pain. Go, my son. Learn. Risk failure. Do not expect perfection of yourself, and try. I accept you, regardless."

Clark was soaring over the streets of Metropolis in a matter of moments. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but as soon as he saw it, he was sure.

A group of five young men was cornering a boy their own age in a back alley in Suicide Slums, apparently about to inflict much bodily harm on the young man. They held several improvised weapons, including bricks and broken bottles, while one held a knife. None of them showed any indication that they knew that the young man they were about to attack had a semiautomatic pistol tucked into the small of his back.

Clark arrived as he drew the gun. He managed to click the safety on before the boy could pull the trigger, though he still came to stop between the other boys and the pointed gun.

"Whoa!" the lead boy said. "It's him! Scatter!"

They bolted, dropping their tools of pain and violence and running as though they fully believed that Clark was going to run each and every one of them down. Clark shook his head and turned back to the gun, still pointed at his chest. Despite the inactivity of the weapon, the boy was still trying to pull the trigger, again and again, practically shaking the weapon in frustration and with the force of his pulls.

"That won't do any good," Clark said gently. "Even if you fired, it wouldn't do much."

"What'd ya want?" the boy said. "Get outta here!"

"Well," Clark said, not moving, "if I did that, your friends might come back, and from what I could see, that situation wouldn't end well for anyone."

"I don't need yo help!" he said. "I can take care of my own self."

Clark paused, taking a deep breath, "Yes, you can."

The boy stopped, looking dumbfounded.

"You are capable of pulling out that gun and ending the lives of," Clark double checked the magazine, "eight people, maybe more. Even if I wanted to, I can't babysit you your entire life; if that is what you want to do, even I can't stop you. But let me ask you this: what then?"

"Huh?" the boys asked, barely more than a grunt.

"Have you considered, really thought about it?" he said. "What comes next? After you choose to be a killer, what happens to you?"

The boy shook his head, looking at the walls around them, at the pavement, "I didn't come here to get no lecture."

"And I am not interested in giving one," Clark said. "But I am interested in you, in hearing what you think and have to say. So, have you thought about it?"

He stepped back and forth, but he didn't leave, "I dunno, man."

"What is there not to know," Clark said, his eyes on the boy, though not intently. "Are you prepared to accept the consequences of your actions? And there will be consequences. Everything we do results in consequences, good or bad, and killing someone can lead to some bad ones."

The boy became angry again, "What the hell is it to you, Mr. Man? Why are you even here? You don't know me!"

Clark smiled gently, "Then explain it to me. I am willing to listen."

The boy looked confused, "What do you want from me, man?"

Clark looked at the gun, still in the boy's hand, "What you were about to do, what you can still do, is a big decision. There really isn't any coming back from that. Dead is dead. And it is likely that they won't be the only one who dies. I am not here to tell you what you should do. I just want to make sure that you understand your decision before you make it, and know that you have choices."

"Why?" the boy said, belligerently.

Clark took a deep breath, "Because, I'm not perfect."

"Huh?" the boy said, so baffled he looked angry.

"I am not perfect," Clark said. "But I want to help people, but I am not very good at it; not really. I need help, practice. So, you have a choice. You can help me out and we can talk; you tell me your story, I will listen, and you can choose to hear what I have to say. Or, you can tell me to take a hike, and I will."

The boy stared a long time, looking unconvinced, "And you'll just leave?"

Clark nodded, "If you decide at any time that you are done talking to me, I'll go."

The boy pointed upward, "Then go!"

Clark took a long blink and a deep breath, "Alright."

He turned and was halfway from the street to the nearest roof what the boy said, "Okay! Okay. We can talk."

Clark returned to the street, "What's your name?"

"Kids call me Dom-Juan," he said, "because I am so good with the ladies! You can call me Dom."

Clark smiled, "You can call-"

"I know who you are, Mr. Man," Dom said. "So, what? You just want to sit in this alley or something?"

Clark gestured towards the street, "Where would you suggest?"

Dom shook his head, "Come on, man. Tracy is working right now. She got us."

They walked a few blocks to a run-down diner. More than a few pedestrians paused upon seeing Clark walking down the street, the young man at his side.

"I am going to have to get you out here more often," Dom said. "This could do wonders for my reputation."

They walked in, the place falling nearly silent upon their arrival. A young waitress a few years older than Dom walked up, "T-table or c-c-counter?"

"Tracy," Dom cut in, "how are you doing, girl?"

She smiled at him, a bit begrudgingly, "I'm fine, Dominic."

"Call me Dom-Juan," he said, dropping his voice an octave or two.

"A table," Clark said. "Please."

They moved to a booth towards the back of the dinner. Tracy left them each with a menu and returned to her other tables.

"She wants me," Dominic said, staring dreamily after her.

Clark smiled, "So, why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

"What's to tell?" he said, staring blankly at the menu, his eyes unmoving. "Mom left the first chance she got. Dad barely makes enough money for us to live on. I have to find my own way to live."

"By doing what?" Clark asked, his voice even, light.

Dominic stared at him, "Selling medicine."

"Drugs?" Clark asked, hoping he didn't sound judgmental.

"Medicine," Dominic said again, overly pronouncing each syllable. "I don't do anything wrong. Simple supply and demand."

Clark wanted to complain, to protest, to begin listing off everything he knew about drugs and qhat he had seen them do. He wanted to argue, to convince, and to tell him that he was wrong. So, Clark said, "How is that working out for you?"

"I do alright," Dominic said. "Not everyone appreciates a fine entrepreneur like myself. Some boys have been trying to move in on my business. So I had to stick up for myself. They don't want to do this all civil like, so I started carrying protection. Good thing you showed up when you did. They got the chance to walk away. This time."

Clark took a long breath, "And are you happy?"

Dominic stared, "What the hell does that got to do with it?"

"It's a simple question," Clark replied. "Are you happy?"

Dominic looked at Clark like he was crazy, "What is your deal, Mr. Man?"

Clark waited, his hands folded, his eyes unwavering yet genteel.

"Do I look happy to you?" Dominic said, sounding angry.

"Right now, I am interested in what you have to say," Clark said, "not what I think. And you still haven't answered me."

"I'm fine," Dominic said. "I do myself right and I take care of business. What else is there?"

"Being happy," Clark said.

"I don't know what sort of fancy world they got up there in the clouds," Dominic said, his voice rife with sarcasm, "but here in the real world, we have to deal with reality."

"And in reality, you can't be happy?" Clark asked, trying not to meet sarcasm with sarcasm.

Dominic sat back, looking out the window at nothing in particular, "You don't know what it is like, man."

Clark smiled patiently, "So you keep saying, but you haven't even tried to explain it. I am willing to listen. I'm here, listening."

"You don't want to hear it," Dominic said, his eyes meeting Clark's for a moment. "You say you do, but you don't. Just as soon as things get real, you'll be gone."

"Dom," Clark said, his voice firm. "I see and hear things every day that most can't stomach. It is a messy, barbaric world out there. I know, and I am still here, caring about what you have to say. It is your choice to speak. When I walk out of this diner, do you want to be the man who spoke up or the man who didn't?"

Dominic glared out the window for a moment, then said in a low voice, "It's tough out there."

"Tough how?" asked Clark.

"You got nothing," said Dominic. "Like really, nothing. If some dude just gets it into his head that he is gonna kick your teeth in, then nothing is gonna stop him. There is nothing stopping him from putting you in the hospital. Or the morgue. We ain't people to each other."

Clark nodded, "That sounds really hard."

"Hard?" Dominic asked, sounding awed. "Nah, hard is getting beat down for your shoes. Hard is getting knifed because you have something someone don't wanna work for. But when it is us verse them, and they are willing to put you in the ground, what do you even say to that? It's like, you gotta be willing to be a murderer in order to not be a corpse. What other choice you got?"

"You always have a choice," Clark said. "It may be hard, it may be less than pretty, and it may take everything you have not to do what you think you have to, but you always have a choice."

"Whatever, Mr. Man."

"You can blow me off," Clark said. "You can tell me I'm full of it and that I am wrong, but if you think that it is okay to see people as not worth the bullet you spend to put them down, you are no different from the rest of them. Think about it, because you said it yourself; if you decide that you are going to be a killer, nothing is going to stop you. Except you. You can find a better way. It is all up to you. You just have to decide what kind of man you want to be."

"I'm done with this," Dominic said, standing up. "Thanks for nothing."

Clark watched him go. He knew what this was a likely outcome, but he had hoped that it would have gone differently. He waited until Dominic had cleared out and was about to leave himself.

"That was a very nice thing you did for that young man," said an elderly gentleman who was sitting behind Clark. Clark moved around to see him. He was easily in his eighties, his knurled hands around an old cane, an ascot cap on his head, bifocals on his nose.

"I don't think he appreciated it," Clark said, moving around to stand before the man.

The man extended a hand, "Walter Gresham."

"Pleased to meet you," Clark said.

"He heard you, ya know," Walter said. "The young man may not have been happy about it, but you can't help that. Folk can have truth beat them upside the head for years and still not be willing to see it. But if he has any sense, he will listen, someday."

"Thank you," Clark said. "It's kind of you to say so."

"No," said Walter. "It is kind of you to care. Everyone has the chance to let go of their fear and do the right thing, but not many get a big blue and red neon sign to come with it."

Clark chuckled, "I hope he does listen."

"I can still appreciate you for it, even if he can't," Walter said. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"I would like that," Clark said, listening and hearing a siren. "But unfortunately I am needed elsewhere. I will hold you to it, Walter, and be back another time."

"Take care, son," Walter said, and with a blur, Clark departed, taking more comfort than he would have thought in the man's simple thanks.


	26. Chapter 26: Escalation

"Seriously, Lois," Lucy said conspiratorially. "What have you been drinking, and why can't I have any?"

"No, really," Lois said, smiling widely, "I haven't had anything. I just the same wine that you had at dinner."

Lucy narrowed her eyes at her big sister, her expression full of skepticism. Not that Lois could blame her; she had spent the majority of the evening either lost in wondrous thoughts, grinning like an idiot at Clark, or trying desperately not expound girlish laughter. She was amazed that her mood didn't even bother her inside her own head. She was just too happy.

"Then what is it?" Lucy asked, casting a furtive look towards Clark as he bustled around the kitchen, mostly doing dishes from the look of it.

Lois chose her words carefully, knowing that Clark could be listening, "I trust Clark. Completely."

Lucy blinked, "I don't understand."

"I am not sure if I can explain it right, put it into words," Lois said, "but he told me that he chose not to tell me everything about himself."

"He said he was going to lie to you?" asked Lucy, looking abashed.

"Oh no," Lois said. "Technically, he already is. But he isn't lying; he's just not going to tell me everything about himself. But he has been honest with me about it in a way that I have never had anyone be honest with me before. He explained that he is making a choice, and he said that he was not going to explain. And, he said that if I wanted to leave him because of it, he would accept it."

"Then," Lucy said, bending forward to keep her voice as quiet as possible, "why aren't you?"

"Because I trust him," Lois said, her voice full of something like reverence. "Every experience I have had with every guy up until this point is telling me to run, to never look back, but I'm not. He isn't trying to control me or tell me what I should do. He trusts me to make whatever decision I think is best, and he is willing to let me make that choice, even if it means losing me. I can't really help but trust him. What he did was the truest and most just thing anyone has ever done for me. So, I choose Clark."

Lucy stared at he older sister with something akin to awe, "You love him."

Lois pressed her lips to try and hide her smile, and did so poorly, "I think I do. I'm not sure what I am feeling is love, but I have total faith in the fact that this is the closest I have ever come to it."

Clark chose that time to reappear, balancing three plates in his hands, each with a small triangle of caramel cream cheesecake.

"He does dishes and makes cake happen?" Lucy asked, her tone light. "Marry him, Lois. I'm serious. I can be a bridesmaid, like right now."

Clark turned incredibly sheepish, and Lois averted her smile. Suddenly, Clark's phone buzzed, and he took it out of his coat, "It's the Planet. I'll take it in the hall."

He stepped out, and Lucy turned to Lois, "Seriously, Lo? You love the guy?"

"I told you, yes," Lois said sounding a bit nervous.

"But he is just so..." Lucy trailed off.

"You don't see him the way I do," Lois said. "Even though I can't really see all of him, I think he is just afraid that if I really see him, then it will change how I feel about it. And that's okay; I can understand that if that is what is really going on. I'm not trying to guess or anything. I trust him. He's... Clark."

Clark stepped back in, "We are needed."

"What is it?" Lois asked, setting down her plate and standing up.

Clark was already in his coat, "Intergang is apparently trying to coordinate several armored car robberies. There are new laser etched printing plates that LexCorp designed that are on the route to the Federal Reserve. The police are doing their best, but the number of trucks being targeted is increasing, by a lot."

"Okay," Lois said. "I'll finish up with Luce. You go on ahead. We will gather information separately and meet up at the Planet later."

Clark looked momentarily unsure, but then said, "Please be careful," before giving her a chaste kiss and heading for the door.

"You too," she said, and he was gone.

Clark was glad that he didn't have to make any excuses, and was out of the apartment and heading quickly for the main attraction. The plates were in an unmarked van, relatively unprotected, except for the LX5 sitting with the case. The other two LX5s were with decoy trucks. So far, the tactics that Intergang were using were non-lethal and more for show, or else Clark would have interceded sooner. However, the van existence had not been secretive enough, and Clark was fairly sure that the three heavy assault squads with full body armor and armed with some kind of energy weapons were going to be far more dangerous. Each squad was in a four by four militaristic jeep, converging with surgical precision. Clark was going arrive just before they did.

Clark took out the tires of the first vehicle, slowing it by main strength enough that it didn't hurt anyone, inside or outside the vehicle. As it stopped, the windshield exploded outward in a wash of molten glass and Clark was hit with enough plasma to melt through an engine block, which one shot did. Clark grounded himself, dissipating as much of the energy as he could, which was so high it was starting to misfire his neurons and making it hard for him to sense the world around him or think. Once things were more clear, he prepared to go for the weapons, but only then noticed their self-destruct digital kill keys. If the weapon got too far away from the wielder, it would explode. There was a number of anti-tampering devices in the framework as well. Clark would have to find another way to slow them down, and carefully.

He reflected on what to do as he stopped the second vehicle, realizing that he wouldn't have time to stop the third before it arrived at the van. Making up his mind, Clark stopped the second car from the rear, hiding his presence as much as he could with the frame of the four by four. He cleared the vehicle as quickly as he could, telling pedestrians to get off the streets. As soon as the squad exits the four by four, Clark stepped up to the fire hydrant.

A careful blow broke open the hydrant, and using his cupped hands, Clark soaked each, in turn, shorting out the electrics in the weapons' firing mechanisms and making it impossible to fire without it backfiring, expending most of its energy through the firer. He repeated the maneuver with the first squad, keeping an eye on the LX5 as the final squad moved into place.

To Clark's surprise, as soon as it was clear that the van was going to be overtaken, the LX5 punched out the side door, took the plates and simply flew away, heading, at a greater speed than Clark had witnessed it fly before, in the most direct route to Reserve in DC. Before Clark had a chance to use water against them, the final squad had stopped their vehicle and took a hostage before everyone could realize what was happening.

Clark practically slammed to a halt in mid-air, drifting downward to land in the streets before the men, in plain view and with his hands raised.

"Stay back," yelled the leader, looking terrified, his weapon point at Clark as he used the hostage, a ten-year-old boy, as a body shield, his mother in hysterics behind a dumpster.

"Stay back, alien!" the leader reiterated.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Clark said, not moving forward. "No one needs to get hurt here. Please, let the boy go."

"You think I'm crazy?" the leader said, voice cracking. "I've seen what you can do, alien. This boy is the only thing between me and a body-bag or two!"

Clark could see and hear that the other members of the squad were not nearly so volatile, but they were well trained and followed the leaders lead obediently.

"Is there nothing I can do?" Clark asked. "You have all the power here. I am sure that we can come to some sort of agreement. Is there anything I can do? Any act I can do to show my good faith?"

The leader seemed to think about it for a long moment, then became eerily calm.

"No."

There was the press of a button, a white flash as the weapon in the leader's hands destructed, exploding so violently that it rocked the vehicle and gouged the street. Windows up and down the block exploded inward, then outward as the rush of air was pulled back to fill the vacuum the explosion left. Then, only the screaming could be heard.

"Tommy!" the boy's mother cried. "Where's Tommy?! Oh my god, Tommy! Tommy!?"

"Mommy!"

The smoke seemed to clear, revealing Clark. He held the boy to his chest, his back to where the explosion had been. He couldn't have gotten further from the blast without risking injury to the boy, but he was all but unhurt, except for a few blisters and some blacked edges to his clothing. Outside of a few minor trauma from the concussion wave, none of the bystanders were seriously injured. The squad, however, was badly hurt even with their armor, and the leader was, Clark could see, beyond medical help.

As soon as the boy was in his mother's arms and Clark was hugged by her and thanked profusely, Clark walked to the leader's side. A majority of his face was gone, and he practically didn't need to look through him to see his internal trauma, so numerous were his wounds. Clark knelt beside him, carefully taking his hand in his.

"That was a brave thing you did," he said. "Stupid, but brave."

He coughed, painfully, "Seemed like the thing to do."

Clark nodded, "I'm sorry, but there isn't going to be anything they can do. Even if you were in a hospital right now, in the Intensive Care Unit, there wouldn't be anything they could do for you. Do you know what that means?"

A tear rolled down his cheek from his remaining eye, "I'm going to die."

Clark nodded, "Yes, I'm afraid you are."

The leader looked around, as though searching for something, "Thinking about it, looking back now, I don't think I want to do that. I am not sure if I really wanted to at the time, but I don't want to now. Isn't that strange?"

"No," Clark said. "It isn't strange at all."

"You are staying with me," he said more than asked. "Even after everything I did."

Clark said nothing, and the leader said nothing. He passed, and Clark closed his eye, carefully and respectfully. But as Clark stood and looked around, he realized that it wasn't over.

Clark was halfway up the length of LexCorp Tower when one of the windows on the top floor office exploded outwards. There was a scream as the man fell from the window, unceremoniously flailing through the air as he pinwheeled towards the ground. Clark caught him carefully and continued upwards.

"No!" he yelled. "I mean, yes! Don't let go! I mean, no! Put me down! Yes, I mean no! Not back up there!"

Clark landed in the broken window, for it was closer and Clark wanted to make sure the rest of the men who were in Luthor's private office would remain alive.

The fourteen men lying around were not in good shape. They each had a more deadly looking version of the same energy weapons that the three squads had had, and all were still neatly intact and set in orderly rows upon the floor far from the men, each with its kill key set beside it. The men were broken, for lack of a better word. Though all were stable and were not currently dying with enough speed that they needed immediate medical attention, each had severe injuries which would leave them crippled and disfigured for life, perhaps beyond the means of even the most advanced reconstructive surgeries. Standing casually at his desk as he was the first time Clark had met him, was Luthor, his coat removed and set upon a modern and minimalistic rack that had projected from the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back, his face calm and relaxed, despite the moaning men and the chaos that had no doubt been rampant only moments ago. Standing between him, the injured men and Clark, in a state of readiness in a neat column, were seven robots. They were bulkier than their previous model, with the same proportions and build as Clark himself. They were no longer bearing the resonance armor that they had before, but some kind of thick dense molecular sheeting, almost like fabric, somewhat similar to the cloth that Clark himself wore. They had their sonic weapons modified and moved in between their optical sensors. Their internal servos and hydraulic structures had been updated and reinforced with a massive degree of redundancy, making them substantially more capable. Their power supply was some kind of cold fusion machine, utilizing ultrasonics to maintain the reaction. They looked for more formidable, more intimidating. Across each of their chests, with similar iconology and heraldry to that of Clark's shield, each of the seven was marked LX6.

"Ah, Mr. Mannheim," Luthor said. "Are you reconsidering my offer?"

"You can go to hell, Luthor!" the man said, on his knees beside Clark, barely able to stay upright.

"As colorful as ever," Luthor said, before turning to Clark. "You are trespassing, but seeing as the window was open, I will invite you to stay, with the understanding that this is classified as a secured location and that those who have had their access revoked will be met with lethal force if they do not agree to be escorted out."

Slowly, the two closest LX6s smoothly bent, as though preparing for action.

"I can agree to that, Mr. Luthor," Clark said evenly, ignoring the threat.

"Please," Luthor said jovially, "call me Lex."

He stepped forward between two LX6s and offered a hand to Clark. Mannheim stayed where he was as Clark and Lex stood before the fallen men.

"You rent them," Clark said. "They will never be the same because of what you did."

Lex smiled, and there was something almost leonine in the expression, "What has befallen them was nothing but a reaping. They came with the intent to commit murder, into a situation where I would have been within my rights to have them executed in self-defense. I graciously let them live. They will be living reminders, a mobile advertisement as to what happens to those who threaten me, and what my mercy costs."

Clark suddenly felt truly uneasy, though he was not entirely sure why.

"What about Mannheim?" Clark asked. "I can't exactly see how he was expected to survive."

"I gave him a choice," Lex said expansively. "He decided he would rather jump. I can hardly be blamed for the man's suicide."

Clark turned to Lex, making up his mind, "What is this about, Lex? I can tell that there was much more going on here than a simple theft."

"What makes you say that?" Lex asked good-naturedly.

"Intergang set up nearly a dozen decoys to stage an assault that was the real distraction," Clark said, "evidently for this assassination attempt. But if you wanted those plates transported safely, they would have been. That LX5 could have simply taken them at any time by flight, to say nothing of the fact that if that van was meant to remain undiscovered, I am willing to bet it would have been. This was a trap, for them, from the beginning. Why?"

Lex's smile shifted, subtly. Not many would have been about to see it, but Clark did. It was suddenly hinting of satisfaction, the sort of sated satisfaction only a predator wore.

"I wanted to send a message," Lex said. "I am a powerful man. I have methods and machinations that few can even conceive of. If I want something, nothing can get in my way. No power in this world or out of it will stop me."

The LX6s seemed to lean in, something about their posture becoming threatening, imposing, though Clark knew they had hardly moved. And he didn't back down.

"You are not above the law, Luthor," he said, just managing to keep his tone calm.

"No," Lex said, his smile never wavering, "But that doesn't mean it can stop me. I am sure you are familiar with the concept."

Clark swallowed the anger that he could feel starting to bubble up within him.

"After all," Lex said with a piercing confidence, "there doesn't seem to be a country that currently exists on this planet that you haven't enter illegally, including this one. I can't imagine what might happen if you were to suddenly be served with court papers from every legal institution that you have ever infringed upon. I'm quite sure that your current way of life would become quite impossible. And if you truly believe this so-called morality that you seem to aspire to, you would have to remain in whatever maximum security facility that you were locked into. But, if that isn't a good enough deterrent for you, just ask yourself..."

Luthor bent in, the smile so fierce on his face, "Just what would Lois think, _Clark_?"

Clark froze, the shock of it literally reverberating through the flooring around him. Before he could find himself again, he felt all seven LX6s hit him. Two of them were on each arm, one elbow and shoulder, the other with a double fist around his wrist. One had an arm around his neck from behind with it's other around his torso. Two more each had a hand holding a knee and an ankle.

"You stay away from her, Luthor!" Clark cried, more forcefully than he ever had. If the LX6 holding his neck had not pulled his head to one side, the blast it made would have beaten Lex down into the fallen men behind him. As it was, it simply took out another section of windows.

"I won't bother billing you for that," Lex said. "I understand that a reporter's salary can be quite... limiting."

"I will not be threatened by you!" Clark said, maintaining his voice this time. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to get free without using excessive force that might bring down the building.

Lex turned, "I am not threatening you. If I were, Lois would be here, and she would be dead. Along with your mother. And Lana. And Perry. Even Olsen. Everyone you know and love would be dead at my feet. You are no god. At best, you are an annoyance, an inconvenience to be dealt with, shelved and forgotten. You cannot be everywhere at once, and you won't stop me."

For the first time in his life, Clark contemplated murder. He wanted to burn the animal before him that he daren't call a man. He wanted not but vapor to remain. He was prepared to endure any cost to keep those he loved safe from harm from the likes of this creature. But then, the moment was over, and he remembered that he had a choice.

Lex grinned as the anger left Clark's face, "Yes, you understand, don't you? The reason I win is because I will do whatever it takes to crush my enemy and I will let nothing stop me. And you, without your limiting morals, stand impotently before the likes of me."

"What do you want, Lex?" asked Clark, sounding almost tired.

"Oh," Lex said, examining his nails, "I want so many things, most of which I do not think would be advantageous to divulge to you. But, to be sure, I will not abide you interfering in my affairs again."

The LX6 that had Clark by the neck and torso let him go. The two that had him by the upper arms each let go with one hand, leveling to lock on opposite sides of Clark's neck. The detached LX6 walk resolutely toward Mannheim, whose eyes suddenly became wide.

"No, Luthor! No!" he cried as the automaton's hand grasped his collar and began dragging him towards the window. Lex's eyes never left Clark's, never blinked.

"I'll do anything!" Mannheim screamed. "I'll take the job!"

"The position is no longer available, Mr. Mannheim," Lex said, unwaveringly.

"I'm begging you!" he said, his words almost incomprehensible. "NO!"

The fall was far. Clark felt as though he would explode, as though he would yell until the world split. And he stood, trying not to do anything while Lex's eyes were upon him, knowing that if he moved at all, he would have more deaths on his hands. He waited and waited, waiting until the screaming stopped.

"I believe we have come to an understanding," Lex said.

The LX6s released him, and Clark slumped to the floor.

"You can show yourself out."


	27. Chapter 27: Identity and Preparations

Clark wasn't sure how long it had been since he left LexCorp Tower. He hadn't felt so lost in quite some time, and he spent his time finding places of beauty around the world. He had stood atop mountains, in deep forests, on windswept glaciers, in the shallows of clears blue oceans, among leaping lava against the sunset. Finally, he had come to rest in the air where he now hovered, not sure why, of all the places he could have come, he came to here. Not the farm, not the fortress, not Lois's apartment. Here.

He wasn't sure how long he had been slowly drifting in there, lazy on the winds, or if it was only the first night after Clark had left Metropolis or not. He waited and finally, he was no longer alone.

He was suddenly there in the shadows, almost as though appearing from nowhere.

"Do you know Lex Luthor?" asked Clark. "Do you know what he is?"

The Batman seemed to process that, "I know what men like Luthor are capable of."

Clark abruptly felt the weight of what had happened. He set down on the rooftop, putting a hand to a wall, as though he could not have stayed upright without the support.

"Luthor," Clark started but almost couldn't continue. "He... discovered who I really am."

"What did you expect?" he said, his cloak fluttering in time with Clark's cape, his cowl cast in shadow. "There exists countless images of you from all over the world. Someone with Luthor's resources could compile data points and make comparisons until he figured it out eventually."

Clark nodded, though he kept his head drooped, "I spend so much time worrying about other things, I didn't think... I hadn't considered... Having this knowledge means that Luthor can keep me at bay by threatening the ones I care about, and it has already cost one man his life."

"If it is any consolation," he said, "I would have offered to remove as many of online images as I could, but that seemed contrary to your way of doing things. Being seen in all that you are would only help those you defend. For me, on the other hand, the less I am seen, the more it hinders those who prey on the people I protect."

"I don't know what I am going to do," Clark said. "Luthor is right; the legal system can be bent, and those with know-how and power can indefinitely thwart it. I have no moral right to stop him unless he breaks the law or threatens those around him. But I don't even know how to qualify what he has already done and if it truly is a threat, or to whom. Really, what choice do I have?"

"You always have a choice," the other said. "The belief you are entertaining right now, that you don't, is a lie Luthor wants you to believe. You are allowing the man free will, to do whatever he wants, even if it is immoral and technically illegal, but you are denying yourself that same right. If you do believe that you don't, then you are giving him what he wants and you might not stop what comes next."

Clark looked up for the first time, "What comes next?"

"I am still working on it," he said. "Luthor has set up a lab of sorts, in a sub-basement in LexCorp Tower. The servers are off the grid, the shielding around it mattes out any sensor I have tried to use to penetrate it, even sound. I have been digging through shipping orders, but all the technology that has come in from outside contractors has been typical since the building opened. Unless he is either using usual tech in unusual ways, he must have used secondary sites to construct whatever he is keeping in there and has had it transported off the books by a method I haven't been able to trace yet."

Clark nodded, then looked out over Gotham.

"I don't know what to do," he said, bowing his head again.

There was a long pause. And then, with a low, cold passion, the Batman spoke, "Fear is powerful. When we are afraid, we lose sight of ourselves completely. We act, stupidly, often repetitively, out of habit rather than by thought and deduction. Fear is the reason crimes happen, and it is my greatest weapon. It keeps those who hurt others locked in predictable patterns and keeps criminals from making smart decisions. Don't let Luthor use that weapon against you; you are better than that."

Clark took a deep breath, felt his fear, realized that it was him, just trying to protect himself and those he cared about, and he let it go. He felt possibility open to him again, choice, positive action, free will.

"Thank you," Clark said, extending a hand. "I needed to hear that."

They shook.

"Clark Kent," Clark said.

There was another protracted pause, "Bruce Wayne."

"Pleased to meet you," Clark said.

"I will keep you informed if I find anything out about Luthor," said Bruce. "Do you still have the tablet I sent you?"

"Yes," said Clark.

"Check it periodically," he replied. "I will keep it updated. If you need any additional help with Luthor, let me know."

"That's appreciated," said Clark, lifting into the air. "Good luck."

Wayne looked at him, "I don't believe in luck."

Clark couldn't help but smile, "Take care, Bruce."

With that, he was back in Metropolis. After a quick stop at his apartment, he arrived at Lois's, despite the lateness of the hour. To his surprise, she was actually on the balcony, looking up into the sky, her cell in hand waiting. He wasn't sure why this surprised him, but he momentarily considered going to meet her there in her red and blue. Then, he knocked.

The door to the balcony was open, and Lois turned immediately and ran, flinging open the door. For a moment, she looked as though she was going to strangle Clark, but her hands stopped at his collar, pulling him to her and kissing him to stifle the sob threatening to escape her lips.

"Please," she said as the kiss broke, "please, please, don't ever do that to me again."

"I'm so sorry, Lois," Clark said and meant it heartily. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She actually laughed through her tears and took it, dabbing her eyes.

"Well," she said, pulling him inside, "What have you learned?"

"Not much," Clark said. "Intergang wasn't after the plates; they were after Luthor."

"I got there too," Lois said, sitting at her laptop. "There was a number of men who were released to Met General, all with major injuries, from LexCorp. They also identified the body of one Bruno Mannheim, who was suspected to be a possible leader of Intergang, who looked to have taken a one-way trip to the sidewalk from Lex's office. His body has since disappeared from the city morgue. But if these guys tried to bump off Luthor, what stopped them. The LX5s are all accounted for elsewhere."

"I would say," Clark said, putting a hand on the back of her chair and leaning in to see, "that Luthor has been working on some upgrades."

"This is interesting," Lois said. "I just got an email. A press conference, tomorrow, Lex Plaza. Looks like we are going to find out what is going on."

"I have the feeling it isn't something good," Clark said.

Lois laughed cynically, glancing at him, "With Luthor, nothing is ever good."

"Whatever it is," Clark said. "We will figure it out, together."

Lois turned, looking up at him, still staring at the screen, "Clark?"

He turned, "Yes, Lois?"

She leaned in, and kissed him. What started as simply long became passionate. She reached up, grabbing his shoulders. He lifted her to him, holding her at his high as he did the first time they kissed. She pushed his coat back, off his shoulders. One hand on his tie, she reached up, tentatively, but as her fingers touch his glasses, Clark froze.

She opened her eyes as his hand touched hers, holding it from moving. She relinquished her hold as Clark relaxed his hold on her, lowering her gently to the ground.

"I'm not ready," he said, adjusting his glasses. "It's a big step. I don't want..."

She put a finger to his lips, "I understand. I didn't mean to press. I have just been up here all night, wondering if you were alive, and I guess I have just been thinking about everything I haven't gotten to do with you yet. I don't want to miss out on anything, not one thing."

Clark nodded, "I hope you understand that I do, very much, want to."

"I do," she said smiling. "I mean, have you seen me? How could you not? But, I get it."

He kissed her, gently, and she made a quiet, heartfelt sound that was somehow almost mournful.

"Though, you do know how to keep a girl's motor running, Smallville," she said with a breathless lilt. "I will give you that."

"You are an amazing woman, Lois," he said. "Have dinner with me."

She looked at him like he had gone crazy, "Um, you know that we are dating, right Clark? I know you're a bit old-fashioned, but it still counts if I ask you."

"Tomorrow night," Clark said, and there was something in his voice, something that Lois couldn't place.

"Okay, Clark," she said, a bit weary. "Where and when?"

"Just be ready by seven," he said, smiling gently, "and wear something dressy."

She smiled, "Are you planning to wine and dine me fancifully?"

"To your heart's content," he said. "But it's late. I have a story to start, and another tomorrow. We will put the story to bed and then, you and I have a date."

"Can't wait for it," she said, kissing him again, one last time.

Clark showed himself out, and she smiled and closed the door behind him, before melting on the couch in a huge sigh and wrapping her arms around herself.

"God, Smallville," she whispered to herself. "One of these days, I am just going to jump your bones and you'll have no one to blame but yourself."

Clark smiled from the elevator. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and punched in a number.

"General Lane, please," he said. "It is in regards to his daughter, Lois."

There was a pause.

"Sir?" he asked. "My name is Clark Kent, and I am the man who is dating your daughter. Oh, no, sir. She is fine. You see sir, and I do apologize for the lateness of the hour and for having to do this over the phone, but sir-"

Clark pulled a small velvet box from his coat pocket.

"-There is something that I must ask you."


	28. Chapter 28: Trial

Lex Plaza was a large space, artistically framed by angular, modern art that had a corralling effect, giving the plaza a bowl like feeling, of being contained. Clark didn't like it from the beginning.

The crowd of reporters was dense. Many reporters from all of Metropolis's major news companies and a great number of its smaller ones and countless bloggers were present. They clustered in knots, according to level of status and professionalism. Lois was waiting for him near the front. As the presentation looked as though it were starting to get underway, Clark looked around briefly and realized that this was much more serious than he had originally considered.

Luthor gained the mostly bare stage, walking to the podium, his mien that of a confident businessman. Without delay, he began to address the crowd, though Clark thought he could see an eager anticipation in the man's manners.

"Citizens of the Metropolis, Ladies and Gentlemen of the press. I come before you today as both a supporter and an advocate of the following statement. I am sure that there are many who would disagree with me, but in this instance, I am less concerned with doing what is popular and more concerned with doing what is right. May I present General Samuel Lane of the United States Military."

Clark only had eyes for Lois as her father mounted the stage. His bearing was all that should be expected from a four-star general. Lois looked both hurt and scared.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am four-star General Sam Lane, present with all the authority the rank dictates. On behalf of the United States government, I hereby place the illegal alien known as Superman under arrest-"

The crowd erupted into questions, but none interrupted the General.

"He is to be tried for crimes of terroristic threat, conspiracy, and illegal entry onto this planet. Mr. Luthor has graciously offered his assistance in this endeavor."

Lex stepped forward again, "I present to you all, the LX6."

The robots in question dropped out of the sky, though despite their speed, their landing did not crater the ground as their force might have indicated. They stood at parade rest behind Luthor and the General, their resemblance to both Clark and a row of soldiers was clear.

"Now, Superman," Lex said, "we all know you can hear this. By the law you uphold and the country you call your home, come forward. Prove that you are no coward and have nothing to hide."

Clark wasn't sure what do. There was no way he could leave such a crowded place unseen, and Lois would certainly notice. Unless; the gravity of the situation called for him to give up his disguise, to step forward. Lois grabbed his arm.

"Clark," she said offhandedly. "Superman can't turn himself in, not like this. Not on Luthor's terms."

Clark looked at her, and she had tears in her eyes, an almost pleading expression on her face. She wiped the moisture away, "How can the General do this? It doesn't make any sense!"

Clark turned back to see that Luthor was staring at him, smiling, "Of course he wouldn't show. He isn't human, doesn't obey our laws. We have the right to demand justice from you, Superman! What do you have to hide?"

Lois's grip on Clark's arm faltered, and he put an arm around her as she seemed to go weak in the knees. A few people in the crowd started calling out "Justice" and "Trial Now" and "Down with the Alien". Clark held Lois up, but he cast his eyes down.

General Lane returned to the microphone, "Superman, you have two hours to remand yourself to our custody. Otherwise, we'll be forced to turn your capture over to The LX6s."

Luthor stepped up, "Do not risk innocent lives in your resistance, alien. It's time to stop living in fear! It's time to take back the right to police ourselves! Justice!"

The cries were taken up by the crowd, and before the crowd could dissolve into a mob, Clark and Lois pushed their way out of the plaza and hailed a cab.

"They won't get away with this," Lois said. "Superman can't give in to that."

"Lois," Clark said, cowed, "I think he might. He can't risk innocent lives. He isn't above the law."

Clark held the door for Lois, but she stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. She seemed to make up her mind and got in the cab, but before Clark could enter, she pulled the door shut.

"I'm sorry, Clark," she said. "But I have to meet someone. I'll meet you back at the Planet. Otherwise, I will be at my apartment tonight in time for our date."

With that, Lois gave the driver her address and was off. Within twenty minutes, Lois was fumbling with her keys, praying she would be right. As she finally got her door open, she slammed it behind her, dropped bag and nearly went through the balcony door in her haste.

"Don't do it!" she all but screamed, before she was sure if he was even there. He was, and he took her in his arms and held her.

"Please," she said, her voice small yet firm, only little in so much that she knew she had no right to be so selfish, "please don't do it."

"I have to, Lois," he said. "Not because I have no choice. I have to go because it is the right thing to do. Because I have to hope, hope that ultimately people are good. I have to have faith in that fact, or else, what am I doing here? I am no different from anyone else. If they want to arrest me, I have to let them. It's my choice."

"Don't you understand?" she asked, finding her fire. "Luthor is up to something."

"I'm not turning myself over to Luthor," he said. "I'm turning myself over to the military."

"That technicality won't save you," she said. "We need you, in the world, a part of it. What are we supposed to do without you?"

The tears in her eye were earnest and she bore them unrepentantly.

"You have done so much," she said, her voice strong and steady despite her tears. "For the world, so much good. We need you, more than ever. You can't give up now! We both know that you have only just begun all that we were meant to do together. We can't lose you!"

He held her close and listened, said nothing and did nothing beyond share the moment of sadness with her. Once she had quieted, the tears no longer fell, he said, "You know I have to go, Lois."

She nodded, despite herself, her protestations. He stepped away and she made no move to stop him.

"We'll get through this," he said as he left the balcony and cleared the railing. "I won't say goodbye. I will see you again."

She nodded, though it was more of a reflex than agreement. He was gone in a blur of blue, and she had no way of knowing if the ghost of words that passed her lips made it to his ears, "I love you."


	29. Chapter 29: Sentencing

Clark slowed down about a half dozen blocks from LexCorp Tower. He was quickly flanked by the LX6s, all flying in from various locations hidden within a wide radius around the tower. He came in for a gentle landing in the Plaza, the press still present and immediately swarming him. The LX6s pushed them back with their presence, each saying in a slightly metallic version of Luthor's voice, "Please stand clear, for your own safety."

Two soldiers walked out of the lobby of LexCorp, to either side and one step behind General Lane. He stopped before Clark and produced some thick, high tech manacles, binding Clark's hands before him.

"Superman," he recited, "by the authority vested in me by the United States government, I hereby taking you into custody, until such time as you are to be tried for your extensive crimes against humanity. Do you understand and are willing to comply?"

"I am," Clark said. "And I do."

The LX6s closed ranks around Clark and marched him into LexCorp tower. They made their way to a large central elevator, behind three layers of security, each regarding the procession with hard, inscrutable looks. Clark noticed the elevator car was made of the same strange material that composed the lower basement floors, the ones that he could not see nor hear into. As soon as the elevator was closed and seal, Clark was blind to the outside world for the first time in all his life. And with that weight upon him, the elevator descended down.

They exited into a nearly bare room, large enough to fit a private jet. The center of the room was filled with a three-dimensional frame, the outer edges of a rectangular cube, large enough for someone to stand inside of. The frame was wired into a massive bank of computers and what looked like a miniaturized particle accelerator that ran around the length of the room. Standing at what looked like a control terminal was Luthor.

"So, what is this contraption of yours, Luthor?" the General asked.

Luthor acted as though the General wasn't even there.

"I wouldn't try anything funny, Kent," Luthor said. "Those cuffs are rigged with accelerometers. If you expend too much force or move to fast, they will go off."

"What goes off?" the General asked, looking at the two soldiers beside him. "Who's Kent?"

"Strategically placed explosives," Luthor said, "each placed at opposite ends of Metropolis. Even if you could get out of this room and to one of them in time, you couldn't get to all six."

"Luthor, what kind of a game are you playing?" the General asked, becoming weary. "What haven't you told us?"

Again, Luthor ignored him, "Don't worry, Kent; your fate will be quite painless. This device can lift an instance out of Spacetime, removing it from this dimension entirely. You will last forever, in your own pocket universe. Don't worry, though. It will have no time of its own, so you will never feel a thing, or see a thing, or do anything ever again."

"How will we ever get him back?" the General asked, his nearly patient persistent finally getting to Luthor, who stared at him coldly but said nothing.

General Lane's face hardened, "The only reason we agreed to this, Luthor, is that you said you had a way to control him. I want to leash the alien, not put him down."

Clark closed his eyes, a long blink, "There was never going to be any trial."

"No," the General said. "There wasn't. You are a liability, alien. And until there is a way we can be sure that you won't disrupt the natural order of things, we are not going to let you run around under the sun, waiting for that day that to come."

Clark nodded, breathing deeply, "I have been operating in Metropolis for almost a year now. Why haven't you come forward with your concerns sooner?"

"Because," the General said, grudgingly, "we didn't have the methods to control you before. Once we saw Luthor's tape and heard his assurances, we decided that it was time to act."

"What tape?" Clark asked.

The General nodded at the seven robots around Clark, "The LX6s holding you down."

Luthor gestured, "You wanted a more permanent solution."

"Not this permanent," The General said loudly. "I don't like this, Luthor. It sounds to me like this is a one-way trip."

"That's because you aren't a complete idiot," Luthor said.

Turning back to the terminal, he seemed to disregard the room as a whole, which is why it was all the more surprising when he pulled out the pistol and blindly shot both soldiers accompanying the General between the eyes. Even if Clark was willing to risk triggering the accelerometers, in the time it took for Luthor to reach for the gun, the LX6s had a hold of him. The two soldiers collapsed backward, each with a look of surprise upon their faces. The General didn't blink.

"Now," Luthor said, the gun still raised at the General, "I grow tired of this little farce. Into the frame, Kent. Now."

Clark thought through every possible outcome to this that he could think of, and realized that there wasn't anything he could do without risking the lives of more innocent people. He could attempt to short-circuit the cuffs, but he could see that they were too advanced for him to reverse engineer completely in the time he had and be sure there wasn't a backup failsafe he had missed. If he attempted to leave, the LX6s would try and stop him, and it would be too easy, even just struggling against them, for them to let him go and trigger the cuffs. If he refused to do what Luthor said, he would just trigger the explosives himself. There was no other option left, except his backup plan.

"Sir," Clark said, looking the General dead in the face. "Tell your daughter, 'Happy Anniversary.'"

The General stared at him.

It was a long shot, to anyone who didn't know Lois. She would find the key that he left in her pocket, the one that opened his apartment. She would find both halves of the post-it note, one on his frig, the other in his desk at the Planet, with coordinates to the fortress. She would find the disposable cellphone with the single voice message, the password for which was the month and day they started their job together. The message would explain instructions for activating the fortress's library. It was meant as a way to explain to Lois, even if he could not, but now, she might be able to bring Clark back with it. He knew, without a doubt, that if it didn't work, it would not be for lack of her skill or trying; it would simply be impossible.

Clark turned back towards the frame, walking slowly, as Luthor began punching up the machine. He could hear the hum as the particle accelerator began working, and the device began to charge.

"Wait," the General said. "Kent? Clark Kent?"

Luthor stopped typing. He turned to a second terminal.

"No," he said, scrolling through data, line after line. "Nothing. There is nothing. She didn't call him once, not once. How could he-"

Luthor pulled up another page, and scanned it, "There. Last night. Why-"

He looked at Clark, and smiled he predator smile, "Of course! Did you ask her yet? Did she give you an answer?"

"No," Clark said, unrepentant. He felt the press of the LX6 and kept walking. "I was going to ask her tonight."

"Kent?" the General asked again, as though trying to piece it together. "The young man who called me, who actually had the brass and the heart to convince me that he genuinely loved my little girl and wanted to be her husband, that was you?"

"Yes, sir," Clark said, with all the resolution an entity with his strength could muster, coming to rest within the frame.

"And you meant it," the General said, not quite asking.

"Yes," Clark said, almost quietly.

The General nodded, looking at the gun that was pointed at him, and casually looking at the nearby computers. Then, he whispered under his breath something that Luthor could never hear. Only Clark, and the LX6s, could.

"Override, confirm S. Lane."

With the sound of electrical feedback, the LX6s jerked and toppled, their limbs twitching spasmodically as they lay on the floor. The General dove for the banks, taking Luthor's second shot through the flesh of his arm before finding cover. And Clark did the only thing he could think of; raising his eyes to the control terminal, he fired scorching heat through the machine before walking calmly towards Luthor. He turned to see Clark coming, his eyes suddenly wide. He groped inside his pocket, but too late. Clark held his arms steady and headbutted Luthor with the force of a hard right cross. The man toppled to the floor, out cold.

Clark was at the General's side shortly after.

"The keys," the General said, looking at his belt while he held his arm with his good hand. Clark was able to flip the keys into his mouth and had the cuffs off in moments.

"Hold still, sir," he said, and with a brief flash, a whiff of white smoke, and a grunt of pain from the General, the wound was no longer bleeding. "I will get you out of here."

Then, suddenly, Clark heard as the particle accelerator whined to a higher pitch. The control terminal sparked and the monitor flickered. There was a sudden glow that lit up the frame, and suddenly, there was a wash of white light and a shock wave that knocked over the computers and pushed everything other than Clark in the room several feet back from the frame itself. With a pop, the lights went out.

After several seconds, the emergency lighting kicked in, though Clark did not need it to see. Lying on the floor was three figures, strewn among some rocky debris. They were alive, barely moving. Clark couldn't make sense of it. Then, one seemed to regain consciousness.

"Free," Zod whispered, then louder, "Free. Free! FREE!"


	30. Chapter 30: Battle

Lois had it narrowed down to three dresses. She couldn't figure it out, mostly because every time she tried to make a decision, she began tearing up. She hated herself for this; she felt weak, childish, wishing the world could be the way she wanted, and whining when she didn't get her way. It was so pointless to desire things to be different that you couldn't change, but she couldn't help it. She prayed with all her heart that he wasn't gone.

She dried her eyes for the dozenth time and settled for the black dress she wore on her first date with Clark, waiting for the knock at the door. She was about to change when she felt it.

There was a deep rumble, like an explosion, and suddenly the building shook under her. She froze, listening. She walked onto her balcony, hearing the distant blare of many car alarms. The city seemed still, more still than she expected. She noticed a flock of pigeons, then many other birds, all flying away from LexCorp tower. She ran back into her apartment and opened her laptop. Three clicks and she found it.

The live stream was choppy, but got the point across, "-reporting from Lex Plaza, where three unknown persons seem to be in a fight with Superman. No news yet as to what has happened in terms of his arraignment, but it is safe to say that we are glad to have him here."

The digitally compressed video was hard to interpret, but it was clear that the three newcomers, all dressed in black, were nowhere near as strong and fast as Superman. They were still moving at slightly fast than human speeds, but two together threw a scooter at the Man of Steel as he passed and nothing seemed to be putting them down. There was even a moment when Special Crimes showed up, and even the assault rifles they used only seemed slow them down for a little while, as they held wounds that seemed to heal shortly thereafter. Every once in a while, one would stop fighting and do something odd, like hold the sides of their head or look wildly around, but it ended quickly and the situation seemed to be accelerating.

Clark was working hard, harder than he had worked since fighting the LX5. Their blows were getting more powerful, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. And they weren't shying away anymore, his body no longer threatening them with injury if they hit too hard. He was trying to meet their blows with his own strength, to maybe cow them into backing off, but it wasn't stopping them. They were getting faster, stronger, and it was only a matter of time before they would match him, and then, outnumber him.

Deciding that they were strong enough that he didn't need to be gentle anymore, he moved to each in turn at top speeds. Once he had each in tow, holding them by their clothing, he bolted out to sea. It was the most direct route to an unpopulated area. He turned south, heading for Antarctica, but he didn't quite make it there before Zod was able to turn, noticeable fast, and look at Clark. He threw a punch that Clark could not avoid without dropping them, and it shocked him into to doing so anyway. They bounced along the water, moving fast enough and strong enough that they found traction and began to chase after Clark, passing over the surface of the water as Clark had once done.

He managed to get them onto the ice surrounding the frozen continent when Clark stopped, hovered in the air high above them, "Don't do this Zod."

Zod stood his ground, smiling. Feeling the rays of the yellow star soaking into him, making him closer the likeness of Rao every moment more. He glanced at Faora and Jax-Ur and knew they were feeling it as well. They would ascend to godhood, together, his goddess and his right hand, and he would be their Head, their General, and they would win the day. There was no way this outsider could understand, this child of another world, his Kryptonese stilted and heavily accented, one who was foreign even to himself. What an irony that he should both be his enemy's heir and so completely contrary to the teaching of his homeworld.

"Your words are as hollow as the meaning you give that crest," Zod said, languishing in the feel of his language, being able to hear all the nuances that he had never appreciated before, knowing that the fool who was both above and below him could never comprehend. "What I do, I do because I have earned it. I paid for my presence here with the sacrifice of the world I loved, and now, I will be the perfect embodiment of Rao, and nothing can stop me."

"And what will you do with all that power, Zod?" he asked, his accent flushing out, becoming less noticeable all the time. He was a quick study; Zod would remember that. "Are you going to rule this world? Or are you going to crush it, with less regard for it than the world that you claimed to love?"

"I will make this world my home," Zod said. "There is much that can be learned from the teachings of Rao and the Kryptonian way of life. I will make this world a colony, a shining beacon that will pale even the distant gleam that was Krypton, a New Krypton, superior in every way that matters, my Krypton."

"Three residence does not make a colony," he said.

Zod smiled, and drew out a crystal, "Here lies enough genetic information to repopulate an entire world. I shall be the race's father, Faora it's literally mother, and Jax-Ur, its architect. We will keep them from the yellow star until they prove to be worthy of it, and then they will join us."

"What of the life that already thrives here?" he asked, sounding so obstinate, so childish.

Zod bowed his head, showing his respect despite his belief that none was due, "I am sure not all here are as worthless as their weakness suggest. Those that are capable of understanding and will embrace our dogma, like the hairless one who freed us, will live long and fruitful lives in servitude."

The usurper of the symbol of El seemed to consider for a long moment, but Zod realized that it wasn't long, it simply felt longer because he could start to feel his mind racing, feel it be able to speed so quickly that time seemed to dilate.

"My right to choose is no greater than yours," he said, his accent all but gone, his words precise, his vitals steady. "I will not sit by and allow you to force your will and misery onto the people of this world. If you cannot find a way to live peacefully among this planet's inhabitants, I will find a way to stop you."

Zod struck. He leaped higher and fast than the foreigner expected, and landed a blow that sent Clark back and down into the ice, splitting a long gash into the frozen surface. He was back on his feet in an instance and hit Zod back, almost as hard, though the damage and aftereffects of such an attack were less lasting on Zod than Clark anticipated or had hoped.

The fight rapidly escalated. At first, Clark relied on his strength and endurance to give him the edge, as he often had in the past. When he realized that strategy would not serve him, he turned to his speed, but soon, the three matched him in that as well. He finally turned to flight, only to have coursing plasma rake him and send him falling back to earth.

Clark no longer wondered what pain was. He felt it. With cracks that shook mountaintops and felled avalanches, blow landed upon him that hurt him, for the first time in his life. Never had he felt the true challenge of physical defeat, the total powerlessness of knowing that he was at another's mercy. He had never known what it meant to have no real option but to fight back. However, as much as their new powers and senses could be overwhelming, Clark had lived his whole life with them. Where they had magnitude and force, Clark had understanding and finesse.

He could make sense of the echoes of footfalls, understand precise information from the stepper's location, which allowed him to duck and cause Faora's blow to land upon Jax-Ur instead. His years of experience had forged habits that gave him, relatively, split-second reaction times, allowing him to move and act upon his senses without thought. Every moment he wasn't totally focused on the battle, he was coming up with his plan. He just hoped Lois would be ready.

As she picked her way across the debris littering Lex Plaza, Lois headed for the ambulance parked on the sidewalk before LexCorp tower.

"Hold it there, miss," said the nearby uni. "This is a cordoned off area. For your safety-"

"Can it, Dudley Do-Right," she snapped. "I'm a member of the press and that's my father in that bus. Now, do you want to get out of my way, or do you want me to get testy?"

Clark couldn't help but smile, and the uni stepped back as Lois went around to the open back of the ambulance.

"You always had a way with the green recruits, Lo," General Lane said dryly, his tone in no way complimentary.

"I learned from the best, Sir," she said, stepping in and hanging the IV bag so the EMT could finish up and move to help someone else.

"Still, you should soften that upon occasion, Lo," he said. "Then, maybe, you might have a man in your life."

Clark crashed down in the southern Andes mountains but managed to return to his feet and clock Zod so hard he cratered two and a half miles away.

"Are you really going to give me dating advice right now, Sir?" Lois asked incredulously.

General Lane gave her a long look, "I got a very interesting phone call last night."

Lois came up short, nonplussed.

"From a Mr. Kent," finished the General.

Lois's eyes went wide.

"Apparently," he continued, "you and he have been dating for quite some time. I would like to know what is going on in your life, Lo."

The look Lois gave the General could have curdled milk, "Considering that I didn't know you were in town, let alone what you were doing in town, I'd say you have no reason to lecture me on communication, Sir."

"I was doing my job, Lois," the General said.

Zod and Faora each grabbed one of Clark's arms and held him still as Jax-Ur lanced heat into Clark's chest. Clark cried out in pain and desperation, finally bringing his own heat vision to bear upon the lenses of Jax-Ur's eyes, who then was removed from the fight while he waited for his eyes to heal.

"Job or no job, Sir," Lois said, "would it have killed you to pick up the phone? I didn't keep Clark from you. I answered every time you asked."

"That's unfair, Lo," said the General.

Lois sighed, "I know. And it's beside the point. What happened?"

Lois watched as the walls came up, "That's classified."

Lois stared, blinking, and to the General's surprise, he watched as his daughter breathed in, filling with passion purpose and not self-righteous anger.

"I don't care what you think," she said, her tone completely reasonable, for Lois. "The best man I have ever know is out there, fighting for his life. Knowing him, fighting for all our lives. We need to help him. Now. Tell me how to do that."

The General sighed.

Clark took three incredibly debilitating blows to avoid two major Brazilian cities.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he said. "Luthor lied. He said he had a way of confining the alien-"

Lois stared, unblinking.

"Confining Superman," said the General, all but squirming. "He was going to banish him or something, use a machine to throw him out of this reality. When I realized it was a double cross, I was about to prevent the device being used, but it was damaged and those people came out of it."

"They are Kryptonians," Lois said. "I'd bet just about anything on it."

The General stared at her, "How did you know that?"

"Watch one as closely as I have, and you'll start to be able to tell," she said. "The device, the one they came out of, can we get it working again?"

"I don't see how," said The General. "I can't imagine Luthor would help. He's somewhere in that damned tower. It could take days just to track him down, assuming he doesn't move."

Clark landed on a beach, pinning Faora who screamed Kryptonian expletives at him as he caught Zod by the throat and head-butted the oncoming Jax-Ur, allowing the people on the beach a chance to run.

"So," Lois said, "we just need someone to get the device running again."

She pulled out her phone and scrolled down, finally hitting send.

"Emil," she said. "Lois Lane. I need your help."

Clark had to buy time. He took them around the south Atlantic, where they fought along the western coast of Africa, occasionally going inland in unpopulated areas. Though the acceleration of their abilities seemed to be reaching its upper limits, none of them had yet to fly, and for that, Clark was grateful. They were all three brutes and were not yet used to thinking or acting beyond themselves as Clark was. Their tactics were to demoralize and win out by main strength. Faora was constantly whispering disparaging words she knew Clark could hear, like a thread of derisive consciousness, informing him of his weakness and the hopelessness of his plight. Zod's blows were punctuated by triumphant guffaws, both off-putting and concussive. Jax-Ur seemed ever the tactician, using the environment as much to their advantage as he could. But Clark could tell that they were expecting to win and had no alternative plans in place. So, as he gave Lois time to get everything in place, he played as though he might lose, until, after a particularly fierce blow from Faora, he looked down and saw blood upon the rocks in front of his face, and knew that it was no longer an act.

Emil Hamilton was a bit of a mousy man, but never more vital and animated as he was when he was in his element. Though his element was usually limited to his lab at Star, he had a certain knack for inferring the work of others, especially work that was of a higher caliber than his own, which was still very good. He couldn't have imagined just how much he was going to enjoy the rest of his day when he received Ms. Lane's call.

Within minutes, a military helicopter picked him up at Star Labs and had him flown to the infamous LexCorp tower, whose owner had been trying to buy out Star for months. There, he was met by the most advanced and well supplied military tech team he had ever encounter, capable of receiving orders with less gab and more understanding than his average lab assistant. After securing contact information for future internship offers, they headed to the basement level and set to work. As they began moving equipment in and began setting up, he thought out loud in proximity to Ms. Lane more than really explained.

"Fortunately," he said, "it looks as though as the components to run the system are still intact. It is only the control system, the primary interface, that tells the device what to do that was damaged. I can't say that we will be able to replicate what the system did before to withdraw the three individuals from whatever extra-dimensional space they occupied, not without painstaking reverse engineering of both hardware and software, pre and post damage. But we should be able to replicate what the device was designed to do. In other words, if I understand General Lane correctly, extra-dimensional imprisonment."

"We need to make sure we can get all of them, at once," Lois said, "without imprisoning Superman as well. They are Kryptonians; if we don't get all of them, we may not get a second shot at this."

"Lo," General Lane said, "if we have to, we will need to imprison them all."

"No!" Lois cried. "We can't do that!"

"Lo," General Lane said, his voice softening to his daughter in a way that completely defeated her outrage, "I am not disregarding him. I saw him before. Can you honestly say that he would rather save himself and risk lives?"

Lois bowed her head before shaking it no.

Clark nodded, though the lapse in concentration resulted in him being clotheslined as he attempted to cross the Nile. Between that and Faora's strike to the small of his back, he was sent tumbling and skipping across the water and into the far bank. As he collected his wits, he thought about Lois. He thought about his Ma, his job at the Planet, the velvet box in his coat pocket in his apartment, his life, all the experiences and living he had yet to do. He thought about willingly giving all that up, knowing that if he did so, he would be affording all those he cared about, and everyone else who would be leveled by Zod, the same opportunity for happiness. He decided that he would do it if that is what it took. Turning, he ducked under Jax-Ur's arm, slamming him in the chest and punching Zod's knee out from under him.

"We need to extend the frame," Emil was saying. "The emitters are in the corners, and while their placement needs to be well calibrated, we can make the field as big as we need."

"Can we run the emitters up to the Plaza?" Lois asked. "Make the field out there?"

Emil calculated, "Yes, I believe so."

He began calling our a list of items they would need, and the techs began supplying them and working to dismantle the current frame.

"We'll disguise the emitters in the artwork," General Lane said. "That should hide them as long as we need them to be."

Clark could feel his face changing. At first, he didn't understand it, not until he realized that his face was bruised and swollen. He made it a point to dodge as many attacks as he could, giving the swelling a chance to go down, avoiding villages as they began crossing India.

The emitters were in place, the device active. Emil asked about a test run, but the General would risk it. Lois saw that everything was in place, she said, "We're ready."

Clark continued to accelerate, letting loose with a burst of speed that he could only achieve through flight. Unfortunately, Faora seemed to detect this action, and before he could outstrip them, she leaped, managing to grapple with him. Before he could drive her into the ground, using it to pry her off of him, she managed to get her hands around his head, her thumbs over his eyes, and began to squeeze with a manic, murderous intensity. The pressure was unbelievable, and Clark was driven to the ground, unable even to think as she pressed into him, the pain beyond anything he had ever thought he was capable of feeling. He was on his knees, his face forced upwards.

"Crush him!" Zod bellowed. "Do it!"

Clark wasn't sure when the decision was made, but suddenly, he was focusing his heat vision in direct proportion to the pain he felt. There was a sound like metal under intense stress and Faora screamed, her thumbs misshapen and white-hot but healing. Clark took his opening and was moving at vast speeds back to Metropolis, the three in hot pursuit. He had just enough time to stop in front of Lois.

There were no words; nothing could be said to express what she meant to him, even if he had days or months to say it in. She smiled at him, tears in her eyes and utter, genuine acceptance on her face.

They arrived, and Clark did his part. He fell back, convincingly fighting as best he could, holding his ground. Though the fight seemed fleeting to all who watched, by their current speed, it seemed more than an hour. Clark made it a point to dance them out of the field on numerous occasions, doing everything he could to not telegraph his objective. Finally, he worked them in, allowing them to beat him down. The shock waves from their blows resettled buildings, broke windows, and knocked bystanders to the ground. They all watched as Superman took every blow, never once crying out, his blood splattered on the sidewalk. The three didn't know what the whine from the basement level meant. Clark wished that it could have been masked completely, but he knew that it wasn't possible to run the cable out of the room and maintain its silence. He prepared himself for nothing, for seeming death.

And to his everlasting fear, he heard it, the shock that registered in Zod's body, as something fell into place in his mind. With a speed Clark had not yet seen from him, Zod dove into Clark, pushing them both from the field. With a resounding flash of light, Faora and Jax-Ur were gone.

In a fraction of an instant, the emitters were slag. Zod backhanded Clark, still weak from his beating, who skid to the now even more barren Plaza, now missing all the debris from the previous and current fighting, a layer of stonework that had been sidewalk, and several sections out of the artwork, all that had been scooped out of reality by the device. Clark looked up, his breathing labored, one eye blackened shut, his cheeks and one side of his jaw swollen practically beyond recognition.

"Did you think I, I! would be so easily defeated?!" Zod bellowed. "I am Rao incarnate! Bow to me! Kneel before Zod!"

This last was said up to the sky, the roar so ferocious that the energy of it, the heat, whipped the air above into eddies and vortexes, causing the begins of a storm. Clark tried to get up but was kicked so hard that the resounding crack that followed could only be breaking bone. He doubled over, crumpled sideways, and was kicked again and again. Zod lifted him by the hair and punched him over and over. And, even with the force being leveled against him, the chaos, confusion, and panic all around him, Clark heard one easy, steady heartbeat, like the eye of the storm. He looked to see Lois, her expression unchanged since their moment before. She smiled, her eyes still tearful, but warm, a look of total unconcern upon her face. Before Clark could make sense of her, her smile deepened, and she spoke; "Go get 'em, Clark."

Clark didn't know where the strength came from, but he seized it. Knocking Zod aside, he shot upwards, never feeling heavier in his life, his energy and stamina at its limits. He almost didn't make it through the storm gray clouds, his splayed hands reach, his velocity slowing, but finally, without warning, the darken sky parted, and Clark was in the sun.

He hung in the air, slowing, lifting out his arms and letting the warmth and vitality soak into him. He felt his form begin to right itself, fitting itself back into place, knitting back together, relaxing, the flow and strength returning. He was himself again, he was whole. And he was ready.

"Fool!" bellowed Zod again, his voice echoed by actual thunder. "I will bend you to my feet, where you belong! Even if it means my death, you will be beneath my boot, where you belong. You will kneel before Zod!"

And with that, a nearly insane conviction filled his form, and he flew right at Clark.

The battle was fierce, among the clouds. Blows landed on unyielding flesh, so resilient that the energy forked outward, having nowhere to go, creating actual lightning. No more was there martial skill or thoughtful strategy; both simply took each others' blows, in turn, pounding into the other with astronomical force. And, with a determination born of fearlessness, for the first time in his life, Clark truly held nothing back.

Zod was readily dismayed. His advantage had seemed so sure before, it had not occurred to him that taking on the usurper of El on his own would be so daunting. Now, the usurper seemed inexorable, and Zod's decided victory seem plausibly beyond his reach. After a particularly fierce strike, Zod was struck a second time, before he could fully recover. Again, upon landing his next blow, the usurper throw another punch before Zod could react. He knew that this advantage would grow exponentially and mean his downfall. He attempted to put space between himself and his foe after Zod landed his attack, but he was given no quarter. He attempted to redouble his attacks and press forward, but his faster attacks lacked their full strength and precision, leaving Zod open to still more riposting blows. His frustration became intolerable. There was no way he could match this ceaseless, nearly passionless determination.

"What are you?!" Zod cried as he was pushed to the ground. "How are you doing this!?"

The usurper drew back his fist, pronouncing the emblem on his chest, the symbol of the House of El, and Zod closed his eyes in relief. He knew his enemy now; he knew the egomaniacal sense of morality, all interests divested in the worthless, unjustly equally valued masses. His sire had loved Krypton; this usurper no doubt loved this barbarous world. And, as with patron before him, it would mean his doom.

Zod fainted his attack, but then shot around his foe, heading for the nearest of the weird natives, so alike in appearance to Kryptonians that he might even consider taking a wife or two, should he grew tired of godhood. He was nearly upon the creature when the usurper intervened, faster than Zod had expected, to which he smiled; he had him.

"Leave them be, Zod," he cried in almost passing Kryptonese. "This is between you and me!"

"No," Zod said, kicking one of their many land vehicles towards a nearby dwelling, filled with many natives. The usurper caught it, but could not return it to the ground before Zod tossed another.

"This is my world!" Zod cried out. "And if I say that one of my own dies, then it dies!"

Zod turned to look upon a youth, by all accounts pretty, though he could not tell the gender through the local fashions and styling.

"No!" cried the Usurper, catching Zod from behind, attempting to force his hands over Zod's eyes. The white heat warped the other's hands and Zod thought he would achieve his end, but the usurper used his scorching, malformed hands against Zod's neck and chin and still had full use of his arms. He managed to just barely keep the attack at bay, and as his hands began to heal, the hold became more and more sure. So Zod began to push himself forward, using the same determination that the usurper had used, knowing that it could not last forever. Zod no longer felt fear, and this fool did. Zod could almost taste his doom.

"Don't do this!" the other cried, and Zod smiled, pushing harder. And as the other compensated, Zod shifted direction, almost catching a nearby creature before Zod was pulled away again.

"Stop!" he cried again. Zod looked at the other, "This is my world, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

Clark was running out of options. He felt like he had no choice. He was at the end of his wits and it took every fraction of his entire consciousness not to let someone die. He couldn't handle it, and he could feel his mind slipping, his fears coming. He was about to give up, when a voice sounded in his head, "You always have a choice."

Grabbing the tyrant about this shoulders with one hand, he reached back with his other hand and, with the force he felt might have broken his hand, he struck Zod in the back of his skull. So unexpected was the blow, Zod crumpled to his knees, actually looking stunned. Clark let him go, stepping off his back and walking around the man. Standing before his kneeling form, Clark looked him dead in the eye.

"This is my world, and I will stop you."

Then, as though reaching a plateau of power yet unbeknownst to Clark, he threw a final punch. So fast was the blow, so full of strength, that air around his fist was converted to plasma, condensed into flaming nitrogen and oxygen by the force of its passage. By the time it landed, the heat was melting the surrounding asphalt, and the outward pressure was shoving away cars. The side of the nearest building broke open and fell to the ground.

And, his eyes rolling back into his head, Zod fell. His neck was grievously injured, his skull was fractured, out cold.

Clark fell, so drained by that final attack that he couldn't even stand. He managed to stay on his hands and knees, literally gasping for air, trying to collect his wits. So focused was he that he didn't hear it until it was too late.

The metal thud as it landed was loud in Clark's ears.

"Typical," came the familiar and vaguely mechanical voice of Lex Luthor.

Turning, Clark saw a new robot. No, not a robot; a robotic suit. The head was some kind of dense carbonic polymer, with Lex's face behind it. In his hands, was the senseless and still body of Zod. And, with a sound like shifting tectonic plates, Luthor snapped his damaged neck.

Dropping his lifeless form, he turned towards the weakened Clark, "Three down, one to go."


	31. Chapter 31: Hero

Clark had never been more tired in all his life. He tried to return to the sky, but he was too slow. Before he could clear the tops of the nearby buildings, a metallic hand closed around his foot and he was dragged back down, slammed into the urban ground with force enough to crater. Still recovering, he was lifted and smashed down upon a full-sized car, clearly totaling it as he nearly crushed it in two. Next came another car, then a series of stone pillars, then a front of the building the stone pillars were supporting. So depleted was Clark, it seemed as though all the energy he could take in was going towards recovering from or resisting damage, and Luthor kept it coming frequently enough that there was little Clark could do. He scrabbled for coherency, trying to hold onto something, anything, but he was lost. He was running out of time and he was out of ideas.

"We have to help him," Lois pleaded.

"What can we do, Lo?" said the General. "We tested a squad of black force operatives against _an_ LX5 and there was little they could do. That suit looks more advanced than an LX6."

Lois gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to be saved. There wasn't going to be someone she could turn to who would solve this problem for her. She had almost forgotten what that felt like. But she had been here before, and if she didn't do something now, she most definitely would be there again. Lois was tired of feeling alone. As strong and self-sufficient as she knew she was, she was still brave enough to ask for what she wanted.

"Sir," she said, and the General perked up. "I need you to spin damage control."

The General looked surprised and a little confused, but was listening.

"If Luthor pulls through this, if he beats Superman," Lois said, her words almost faltering, "then he is going to have a whole laundry list of justification as to why he did what he did. He will use public opinion and fear to his advantage and no one will want to come forward and risk the political fallout in order to put him away. You can prevent that from happening, but you need to start working on it now."

The General stood straighter then turned to a nearby communications office, taking up a sat phone and began punching numbers. Next, Lois went looking for Emil.

Clark finally found himself lying in what was left of a street. It was so badly broken that it might as well have been black rocky landscape. He was healing just enough to keep from bleeding but needed to rest, to recharge. He needed time.

"Why are you doing this, Lex?" he asked breathlessly. "Surely, there is a better way to get what you want."

"'What I want'?" repeated Luthor, sounding insulted. "'What I want'!? I want to be free from the likes of you! You come into my world, thinking you can rule it! You do one or two heroic deeds and suddenly, you are some world's hero, a man of the people! Do you have any idea how many lives I've saved?! How many of my deeds have gone unappreciated!? I have contributed more to the global economy than entire bloodlines have in written history. I know! I've checked! You think you are so good, so powerful simply because you have natural skills and abilities?! I don't need your powers to do what you do! I will save the world from you with what I have built! I will beat you! With my own! Two! Hands!"

The blows that rained down on Clark were not nearly so strong as those swung by Kryptonians, but it was near enough in Clark's state. He thought more than once of fighting back, but given how imprecise even his thoughts were, he couldn't be sure that his blows wouldn't kill Lex. He tried to see, tried to look for weak points in the armor, but his senses were fuzzy and what he could see was not encouraging. The armor was too advanced for him to simply disable it. It would take more force than Clark could be precision with, even if he wasn't so lethargic.

"You are nothing to me," said Luthor. "You are a bug beneath my boot, to be stepped on at my leisure."

"You won't win, Lex," Clark said. "Even if you kill me, you'll still have lost. You just don't see it yet."

"What are you blathering on about?" Luthor almost laughed. "Even if I let you live, I've already won. You just don't know it yet."

"You're alone, Lex," Clark said quietly, so quiet that he wasn't sure if Luthor heard him until he stopped. "You're so alone that beating me, that winning, that feeling right is the only thing keeping you from seeing just how miserable you actually are. But that's okay. You don't have to. You're not alone right now. I'm here, with you. It's alright."

Luthor hit him. Clark skidded the better part of two city blocks on the back of his skull, Luthor's fist still pressed into his face. He grabbed Clark by his knee and hand, bringing him down repeatedly on Luthor's bent leg.

"It's okay, Lex," Clark croaked. "I'm not going anywhere."

Luthor dragged Clark up the side of a building. Once on the roof, he threw Clark down with enough force that the friction of air resistance couldn't slow him to terminal velocity before cratering into the granite fountain below.

"It's alright," Clark all but whispered as Luthor landed beside him. "I'm here."

"Stop!" Luthor hit him.

"Saying!" he hit him again.

"That!" he kicked Clark so hard, his passage bent a semi truck double. The contents of its tank exploded. Luthor kicked the flaming truck frame aside and pulled up Clark by his head.

"If you say one more word," Luthor said passionlessly, "I will beat you to death."

Clark smiled brokenly, "If that is what you need to do, it's alright. I hope it makes you happy."

Luthor pulled back his fist, ready for the beginning of the end of The Man of Steel. But, as he began the blow, his arm didn't move. He looked back and saw his arm was held fast, by an LX6.

"No!" cried Luthor. "Run subroutine omega."

"Unknown command," said the LX6. The hack had been total. It would have taken a high-end quantum supercomputer and a damned good programmer to crack the encrypted firewall. There was nothing he could do.

"No!" Luthor cried out again, striking the LX6. It was unable to attack humans, only allowed restraint, and that was Luthor's only avenue if he wanted to succeed.

He fought it, throwing punch after punch. The armor augmented his movements, so even so much activity over so brief an amount of time didn't even wind him, but he was not a machine and his persistence was no match for the LX6's. It dodged and bobbed and weaved and even the blows that landed did little damage. Finally, he managed to grab ahold of the dorsal panel that covered the cold reactor controls. In a split second, he opened the suit around one hand and slapped the panel. His hand was scanned and his identity acknowledged, and the panel opened, which protocol dictated that the LX6 go into standby mode. As Luthor turned around, he realized his mistake.

Clark was hovering before him, and while he wasn't back to his usual self, he looked greatly improved. He landed and walked up to Luthor, his hands up in placation, his voice gentle, "It's over, Lex. It's done. You can stop now."

Luthor hit him, and Clark twisted around but didn't lose his footing.

"Shut up!" Luthor screamed.

Clark righted himself, and Luthor hit him again. Clark was spun again, but not nearly so much so.

"That's enough, Lex," Clark said gently, putting a hand on Luthor's shoulder. He shoved the hand away and used the movement to backhand Clark.

"I will decide when it's enough!" yelled Luthor. "Not you! You're nothing! Nothing, compared to me!"

Clark wasn't sure when exactly Luthor realized when the two LX6s flew over and grabbed his arms. He continued to struggle, to no avail. Luthor went so far as to deactivate the suit, which opened its front and allowed him to exit. He pulled up a pipe from a broken traffic sign and preceded to beat Clark with it. Clark soaked much of the energy into his body, not allowing the reverberation to bounce back and injure Luthor. Finally, exhausted, Luthor fell to his knees before Clark, who knelt before him, eye to eye.

"It's okay, Lex," Clark said again. "It's over."

Luthor panted on all fours, glaring at Clark, "It isn't over. I will never forgive this."

Special Crimes made the arrest. Clark was beset immediately by reporters. He sidestepped sensitive questions with ease, stating that he was glad the city was safe and that he was sure that Metropolis Law Enforcement would release a statement when they finished their investigations. He then turned to the daunting work ahead of him. He wanted desperately to see Lois, but he had his respects before him.

He carefully lifted the body of Zod from where it lay. Two soldiers cried out in protest, but Clark ignored them.

"Leave him be," Clark heard General Lane say as he flew north. "The man deserves the right to bury his own."

Clark laid him down upon the dais before the podium in the fortress. He activated Jor-El's crystal and waited as his father appeared.

"My son," Jor-El said. "I see our worst fears befell Earth. Was the damage severe?"

Clark surveyed the world. His attention had been so fixed that day that doing so was a relaxing routine. Though the damage to land and property had been extreme, and the injuries in Metropolis were rather numerous, he could find no evidence of death as a result of Zod's or Luthor's actions.

"No," Clark said, sounding amazed and feeling awed.

Jor-El smiled, "I am proud of you, my son."

Clark faced Zod supine form, "What rites are mandated, in accordance with his belief in Rao."

Jor-El's face was compassionate, "Sadly, there is no power yet capable of dispatching this body. A pyre is not viable. Though a device can be fashioned that can be used; a phantom zone projector. It is the realm he used to travel to Earth, an act of faith. It seems fitting that it should be his final resting place. I will instruct you on its creation."

Clark acquired the supplies as his father dictated.

"Making such a device will be easier on Earth than it would be on Krypton," informed Jor-El, "your abilities notwithstanding."

"How so?" Clark asked as he began restructuring a crystal at the molecular level.

"Arrogance," said Jor-El. "The Elders of Kryptonian society only supported the creation of any advanced technology that made the act of living more effective. And though our crystalline technology was very strong, it was also limited, and any creation that required such detail and precision to produce had to be done by hand."

Clark created the emitter for the apparatus, "Why was that the policy?"

"As magnificent as our race was," lamented Jor-El, "we still responded to technological advancement with fear. Technology is powerful, exponentially so, and that power can be used to the detriment as well as the betterment of others. We hadn't the hope that, overall, technology would do more good than harm."

"I don't understand," said Clark. "Rao's teachings have done so much good in my life. How could our people still have such fears?"

Jor-El smiled, "Have you not the same teachings on Earth? Is truth any different on that world as it was on Krypton? Humans may or may not put similar limitations on themselves, but if they do, will it not be for the same reasons?"

Clark nodded, "Do you think that, if you had the means, you could have saved Krypton?"

Jor-El seemed to consider that, "What was simply was, and couldn't be anything else. But I choose to believe that in the good of others, even if they will not see it in themselves. Power is not in the ability to stop bullets with flesh or defy gravity; true power is the ability to be and inspire good, earnestly and without ego. It is not an inherent skill, though all can learn it, with courage, diligence, and endless hope."

Clark bowed over the top of the dais, and, with reverence, knelt before Zod.

"Thank you, my friend. Had I the knowledge and ability, I would have prevented this end. You have given me the opportunity to learn, and thus, be a better man. As such, you have been an irreplaceable part of my life, and I am thankful to you for that. Now, I lay to you rest without regret, save that I must."

Clark stood, and, with care, pointed and activated the phantom zone projector. With a glow of oscillating black and white light, Zod's body was engulfed and vanished.


	32. Chapter 32: Endings and Beginnings

The bluff was still, without wind. She stood as she always had, the night at her back, the cliff at her feet. And Clark carelessly walked past her to the edge.

She stared at him, partly confused, partly suspicious. He sat, placing his legs to dangle, staring out into the calm night, as though she wasn't even there. After having her stare at him for a long while, Clark looked up.

"Hello," he said in Kryptonese, his tone almost jovial. "Nice night, isn't it?"

She said nothing, and Clark was able to get a good look at her for the first time. Her fair golden hair had the slightest wave to it, falling about her shoulders. Her eyes were as blue as Clark's, though lighter, softer somehow, bright in her grief under the stars. She was not nearly so young as he imagined, given her slender build, and though she was undoubtedly a young woman, the term girl still came more readily to Clark's mind.

He found himself wondering what had hurt her so, why she was out here, in such pain, until finally, he said, his voice light, "My name is Kal-El. What's yours?"

She folded her arms around herself, each hand the others' elbow, and after what seemed much internal debating, she said, "Kara."

Clark smiled, genuine and broad, and with a casually kind tone, said, "You seem upset."

He added nothing more, waiting, showing no sign of impatience. After so long, Clark was nearing certainty that she would not answer or respond, she nodded.

Clark turned a little, not facing her full, and waited. With a lithe grace, she folded her legs under her and sat, more than an arm's length away from him.

"Why are you upset?" he asked, his eyes upon her face, which seem miserable and mostly closed to him.

She said something he could not hear.

"I'm sorry," he said, leaning closer to her.

"My world was destroyed," she said, as though it pained her to say it so boldly, as though the louder she said it, the truer it was.

Clark nodded in understanding, "Krypton was destroyed. I can relate."

She looked almost angry at him, "No, you cannot! You were only born onto it, sent away before living memories could affix themselves in your mind. It was my whole world! Every person, every member of my family, my bloodline, all of my friends, everyone I knew ever existed were killed. You lost a world that you could know. I lost the only one that I ever had."

Clark was completely unfazed. His look was compassionate as he said, "Do you believe that I can't understand?"

She seemed to close, to wall herself off, despite the fact that Clark's words were not harsh.

"You're right, you know," he answered himself, and total shock lit up her face. "I haven't lost a world the way you have, and even if I had, I'm still not you. I can never understand completely, but that isn't the point. I am here, willing and able to sit beside you and empathize. You are welcome to do with that what you will. You can continue to sit here with me. You can jump. You can walk away. You can push me off the cliff."

For a moment, her eyes twinkled and a ghost of a smile played across her lips. It was wondrous for Clark to behold, and that wonder showed in his face.

"If you want to be sad, be sad," he said. "If you want to be done, be done. If you want to tell me to leave, I'll leave. I care about what you want. I want you to be happy, nothing more."

Slowly, she began to sob. Deep, racking cried came from her as she rocked and bowed. At length and by degrees, Clark put an arm around her and she leaned into him. He sat there, wanting nothing, encouraging no action from her, simply being with her and experiencing her grief without judgment.

At last, she looked up, her eyes glorious with tears, and her lips smiling despite the hurt her eyes held.

"Thank you," she said, and she was gone.

Clark got up from the dais, the residual sensations of being without his abilities heavy within him. He stood, finding his mother standing beside him.

"Mother," he said gratefully.

She smiled proudly, "My little Kal-El. How you've grown. I believe your Rite is completed. You may return to it if you wish, but it will only benefit you marginally, and not nearly so much as simply living your life among people."

Clark nodded, "I believe you are correct. I-"

Clark suddenly noticed the still forms, standing around him. He prepared himself for battle, but no attack came. He looked more closely. Standing in a neat semi-circle, casually and nothing like their previous parade rest, were the LX6s.

Clark was about to investigate further when one of them spoke, with a familiar voice, "Clark. There wasn't a whole lot I could do to assist you in your recent operations with my current resources, especially not when the fight was going on a world away. But, I was able to assist Dr. Hamilton when I discovered that he was trying to circumvent the LX6s. Their narrow band A.I.s are still intact, but everything Luthor put into them has been removed. I fed them samplings of your voice, and they will recognize only your vocal commands. They are capable of learning and regulating new behaviors. They are better off in your hands than anyone else's. Bruce."

Clark smiled, almost laughing. He promptly turned back to the podium and tapped his father crystal.

"Yes, Kal-El," Jor-El answered.

Clark considered, "Father, is there some way to connect these machines to the libraries of Krypton, to any of the information that resides here so that they might learn?"

Jor-El seemed to consider the question, "To what end?"

"I doubt that these robots will be the last weapons that I take from those I must protect the world from," Clark said. "I want them to be the guardians of this fortress, to look after any other items as needed, and to look after the fortress as it deserves."

A moment later, a crystal shard grew up from the podium and began to flicker with light. The LX6s, in turn, began to change. Clark could see some unusual molecular shifting, realizing that the outer layer of their frames could shift in color, likely for camouflaging purposes. Though they were still predominantly silver, the patches of metal that seemed to mirror various muscle groups had turned a shade of blue that matched Clark's. The icon on each of their chest shifted, changing into the same pentagonal shape that Clark wore, only each bore a red number instead, One through Seven.

They said, in unison, in a pleasant, formal Kryptonese, "Greetings, Kal-El. Might we be of service."

Clark nodded in satisfaction, "Not just now. Why don't you all continue looking after the place for me, maybe see about expanding some additional rooms underground."

"As you wish, Kal-El," they replied and set to work. Clark was interested in watching them, but he really had somewhere to be. He was amazed he had managed to put it off this long.

Lois sat at her desk. She wasn't sure how long she had sat there. As soon as Luthor was taken away and she wasn't actively needed anymore, she headed to the Planet and set to writing. She sat at her desk, logged in on her computer, loaded the in-house word processor that allowed her to immediately turn in stories to the main server, and promptly forgot how to function as a human being. She seemed to be staring at Clark's desk, memorizing every detail, because if she didn't, her head might explode.

Suddenly, a LAN chat box popped up, from Perry. It read, "Myofficenow."

She sighed, looking back at the perfection of Clark's desk, everything in its place, nothing there without necessity, including a picture of her, which she found annoyingly redundant and very sweet. She walked out into the bullpen and headed for Perry's office without looking up.

"Yeah, chief?" she said, walking in without bothering to knock.

"Lois," Perry said, sounding as exasperated as she felt. "Where is the story?"

Lois inhaled deeply, "I am still working on it, chief."

"I'd believe that," he said, "if you had typed a single word since you logged on. But, you haven't. Where's your other half?"

Lois managed to hide her flinch, "I'm not sure, chief. I haven't seen him since the mop up. I'm sure that he will be here any minute."

Perry nodded, but in a listless way that made Lois think he wasn't paying any attention.

"I don't pay you to speculate," he said. "I pay you to write. If you want your boyfriend to still have a job, get him here and get to work. We put the evening addition out in less than an hour. I want my page one."

"I will get on that, chief," Lois said, "right away."

The door behind her opened, and Lois felt her eyes flutter shut.

"Well," Perry started, "It's about damn-"

Lois was in his arms faster than conscious thought. She kissed him deeply, practically pulling him off his feet to reach his lips. A sound escaped her with the kiss, akin to painful relief. Clark held her, touching her face, covertly supporting her to him as her knees seemed to go weak. Finally, the kiss broke, and Lois whispered, "Didn't I make you promise never to do that to me again?"

Clark looked just bashful enough that she smiled and started to forgive him, a little. He held up his phone.

"Sorry, Mr. White," he said. "The Internet was down at my apartment, so I wasn't able to email in the story. I was able to get some of Lois's notes and wrote it up at home, but it is all here, sir. I am sorry I didn't get here sooner, but traffic really is terrible out there, sir."

Clark tapped out commands on his phone and Perry received the email, and begin reading.

"Not bad," Perry said. "This is just non-terrible enough for page one. Lois, you want to give this a read, considering your name is on the byline?"

Lois only had eyes for him, "All things considered, chief, it has been a really long day. I would just as soon trust my partner. And, we are going home, unless you want to consider keeping us on hazard pay for the rest of the-"

"Out," Perry said. "We will discuss your insubordinate attitude-"

"In the morning," finished Lois. "Got it, chief."

Clark was fully prepared to talk in their office, but before he could enter, she had her purse and was walking out with him, her arm in his. They stepped into an empty elevator, and before Clark could push the button for the lobby, Lois pushed the button for the top floor. Clark stared at her, his lips twisting, but she smiled, "You said, 'anytime I want.'"

Clark looked her for a moment, and then, he stood, tall and himself, the change in his posture and poise so transformative that Lois literally rocked back, her mouth falling open. Clark gripped her waist, and they were on the roof almost as soon as the doors of the elevator were open.

Lois stared at him, still thunderstruck.

"How long have you know?" he asked, using his real voice.

She stared at him for a moment longer, her hands wrapped around his forearms, and finally, she seemed to snap out of it and almost laughed to, and at, herself.

"I don't know," she said. "I think I always kinda knew. There were times when I couldn't help but compare Superman to Clark in my head, no matter how ludicrous it seemed at the time. But I guess, I really knew when you kissed me. I'm sorry, Clark, but a girl doesn't just kiss you and not know who you are, especially if she has already spent time in your arms."

He smiled, bowing his head, and taking off his glasses, "So, how do I put this; how mad are you?"

Lois wasn't sure what she expected to feel. It was here, in the open, for the first time; she had known the two were one for some time now, but knowing something was true and experiencing it were two very different things. As she looked at him, the brilliant eyes she knew, the manners she was used to seeing on the mortal god, worn by the man she understood and loved, she felt as though something finally clicked. Seeing the true embodiment of Clark was no different than he had always been with Lois in every way that mattered; yet seeing him, unbridled and sincere in who he was, was entirely new and made total sense in an unexpected way. He was still Clark, just more so.

She smiled, taking his glasses from him, and hooking them on the front button of her dress suit's top. Raising an eyebrow, she started unbuttoning the front of his shirt. He just watched her, and, though the common observer could tell nothing, she could see how nervous he was. She stopped just below his sternum and traced the S upon his chest with her finger.

"I understand, Clark," she said. "I mean, I don't necessarily agree with your reasons for not telling me, but that wasn't for me to decide. You were honest with me, as much as you thought you could be, even if you were lying to yourself as to why you couldn't be honest."

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Clark said and was about to say more, but she gave him a knowing look and he found himself shutting up and fighting a smile.

"You were worried that I would be pissed," she said. "You were afraid that if I knew the truth, I would reject you. Period. It's a crock, but hey; you're only human."

He smiled, "I think that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

She kissed him, and as he lifted her, she was awash in the feeling of Clark, unbent and unveiled. Though as he set her down, she was startled that they were no longer on the roof of the Daily Planet. They were standing on mostly even ground, beside a barn.

Lois looked down to see that his shirt was closed, and his glasses were back on his face.

"How did you do that?" she said, the awe unmistakeable.

Clark smiled, taking her arm as she tried to ludicrously walk from where they stood to the house in high heels, "The time I have spent in the company of my own people has taught me a thing or two about myself that I hadn't discovered yet. I can extend a bit of myself to those I touch, so much so that I don't have to worry about my speed injuring them anymore."

Lois tried not to break an ankle, "You know, we could have stopped by my place and I could have changed into something far more reasonable."

"That would have ruined the surprise," he said.

The door to the back of the farmhouse opened, and Martha stepped out, flipping a dishrag over her shoulder as she rubbed the lingering moisture from her hands and beamed.

"Well," she said, "isn't this a nice surprise. Come on in! I have coffee and fresh pie."

Lois felt momentarily awkward, "I'm sorry to be so overdressed, Mrs. Kent. Clark didn't exactly let me know what we were doing."

Martha tilted her head to one side, looking out of the corner of her eyes at her son, the epitome of a disapproving mother, "Well, I suppose we can remedy that without too much problem. You will have to forgive my son, hon. I swear, sometimes it's as though he was raised in a barn."

"Ma," Clark droned indignantly.

Lois smiled and was at ease.

"Come on, hon," Martha said. "I might have something that you would feel more comfortable in."

It was apparent without even trying that Martha's clothing was going to be too small for Lois, but Martha produced a pair of old jeans and a plaid shirt that would do that trick. After she had the jeans belted and hemmed and had tied off the shirt with the bottom buttons undone that she realized she was wearing Clark's clothes. She could smell him on them, a rich masculine scent that she associated with safety, warmth, and just a hint of fluttering.

The two ladies came downstairs to find Clark similarly dressed, sitting at the kitchen counter on a stool. He was cradling a cup of coffee with a second for Lois, black, the way she liked it. It struck Lois that he seemed almost too big for the room, yet totally a home and fitting in. She took a moment to casually lean into him, putting an arm around his back, a thank you for the coffee, before sitting and wrapping her hands around the steaming mug.

"You'll have to forgive me," Martha said. "If I don't do my motherly duty, Clark will think it was acceptable not to have this meeting before now. For that, he will get no pie."

The look of dismay on Clark's face was enough to have both women in fits.

"Will you take whipped cream with your slice?" asked Martha.

"Please, Mrs. Kent," said Lois.

"Oh, come now," she replied. "My name is Martha, hon, and Martha is just fine."

Clark still looked put out, "Come on, Ma. I brought her to meet you now; isn't that enough?"

Martha smiled, knowingly, "So, she figured it out?"

Lois looked between the two, and Clark said, "How did you know?"

Martha smiled indulgently to her son, "Well, considering the way you dropped in looking like you just walked off the streets of the big city was a hint. Plus, Son, she is a smart girl; investigative journalist, so I've heard. And I'm pretty sure you didn't tell her."

Clark was about to ask why, but in the slightly exclusive mother-son talk, Lois had bowed out by taking a long pull from her mug, held carefully with both her hands, her eyes closed blissfully. Martha raised an eyebrow as she glancing at Lois's bare left hand upon her coffee. Clark closed his mouth.

"Well, hon," Martha said, "I am glad that you are here, at any rate. I have wanted to meet you since that day you and Clark met."

Lois smiled at Clark, almost incredulously. Clark meanwhile was dutifully studying the kitchen ceiling, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

"Oh, really,?" Lois asked.

"Of course," said Martha expansively. "I could tell he had a crush on you from day one. Jonathan was the same way; trying to hide how he felt, worried that if he voiced what he wanted out loud or even admitted it to himself that it might not happen."

Clark chuckled nervously, "Well, I can see that this conversation will be completely torturous. If you lovely ladies don't mind, I will see to the farm."

Martha grinned, and Lois nodded. Clark kissed her forehead and Martha's cheek before walking outside and blurring into the barn.

"So, hon," said Martha, "tell me about you."

"Not much to tell," said Lois. "Army brat, General's daughter, grew up without a mom, cancer. Got a younger sister, a problem with authority figures, and am passionate about truth. I'm opinionated, hardheaded, and I am in love with your son."

"I know," Martha said, not missing a beat. "I could tell that even if I only saw you in his shirt. I know that look well, hon. I've worn it for over twenty-seven years."

Lois smiled. She was starting to get a feel for this woman, and it really finally dawned on her that this was Clark's mother, "I have to ask. What was it like, raising Clark?"

Martha chuckled, "I would like to say it was no different from raising any other child, daunting, terrifying, nerve-racking, all that, but Clark was actually a special case. It is hard enough to feel different, but worse to actually be so. But, we are all just people here. We did what we could, all of us, even Jonathan and especially Clark. That's just life; you make the best decisions you can, you learn from your mistakes if you can, then you die. Not much more to it than that."

Lois nodded, then asked, somewhat nervously, "So, what do you think?"

Martha smiled, but it was hinted with confusion, "Of?"

"This," Lois said, waving her hand vaguely over herself and out towards wherever Clark was. "Me, and your son. Us. All of it."

Martha took the opportunity to move to sit next to Lois. Sitting so close their knees were almost bumping, Martha looked into her eyes and said, "Oh, hon. It isn't for me to say. Sure, I have opinions, but they are only that. I can't tell you what is going to happen, and I am can't give you the information you need to make any decision about your life with Clark any easier. It's just life. Do what makes you happiest, as best you can."

"But how will I know what that is?" asked Lois, sounding very young to herself.

"You can't know," Martha said. "You can only try."

Lois bobbed her head, then seemed hesitant to ask her next question, "Is it hard, worrying about him?"

Martha put a hand on Lois's, "I love my son. Loved my husband too. But if losing Jonathan has taught me anything, it's this; I didn't lose him. I got years, and they were the best years of a great life. The fact that he isn't here anymore doesn't make them go away, and it hasn't stopped these years from being good. I won't ever lose Clark, so, I don't worry. Even if I outlive him too, he will still be in my head and in my heart."

Lois smiled through her look of bereavement, "It's still hard sometimes, though."

"Oh, lord yes," said Martha, chuckling with a mournful lilt. "I never said I was perfect. I have my moments of weakness. But, truth, real truth, you always come back to it. You just need to find that truth for yourself."

Lois hugged Martha, a long hug and, for a moment, missed her mother fiercely. She found a clunky pair of work boots and clomped out into the field. Clark was standing just beyond the barn, looking over the rise of the land out to the horizon.

"How do you like the farm?" Clark asked, turning to her as she came up beside him.

Lois smiled, taking his arm and joining him, watching as the sun began to creep towards the horizon, ending this, the longest day in her living memory, "It is very nice here. I can see why you come back here often. It's quite the refuge."

Clark nodded, his hand entwining with hers, "Are you doing alright? I know today couldn't have been easy for you."

Lois almost laughed, thinking of just how much she was trying not to think about everything that had happened, "We got through it. I'm just glad it wasn't worse. Too bad about our date though."

Clark smiled, "It was just a date. We didn't miss out on anything important."

Something about his tone made her focus, become more aware somehow. She looked over at him, and he took a hand in each of his, turning to look at her, the sun setting on his left, her right.

"You saved me," he said, his words heavy and full of emotion. "I never really thought about that, before I met you; someone who had the ability to rescue me, from anything. I believed that I was destined to spend this life as a solitary figure, to be alone in the most quintessential way; to have no one who knew me, for me to share my heart with. I was willing to shoulder that burden because I felt it was a fitting price to pay to be a hero. But, that was a pointless justification, a way for me to feel safe and not risk trying for something more and failing. But I am done being alone, done with not risking being happy. Even if you hadn't known, I would have told you, tonight, who I am, what I am. I would have shared myself with you completely, and I would have done this."

He dropped her right hand as he dropped to one knee.

Lois's free hand found her mouth, her eyes wide.

He reached for the ring box in his pocket.

"Lois Joanne Lane, w-"

"YES!" she leaped onto him, practically throwing her legs around his shoulders in her enthusiasm. She held his face, gentle despite her utter passion, her lips on his. Her weight overbalanced them, and they floated over backward, slowly reclining to the ground. Finally, the kiss broke, and Lois smiled down at him, sitting on his chest.

"You didn't let me finish," Clark said, smiling.

Lois gawked, "Are you joking?"

Clark rose up, lifting her with him, kissing her once more for good measure before setting her back into the boots she had leaped out of. One hand on the small of her back, the other in her hair, he asked, "Will you marry me?"

She looked at him with utter sincerity, tears welling and spilling over, "Yes, Clark. I will marry you."

He retrieved that ring, a tastefully thin silver band with a flawless round cut diamond in a four-pronged setting. It fit her perfectly.

"I love you, Lois Lane," he said.

"I love you, Clark Kent, my Superman," she said.

They kissed once more, the setting sun behind them, bathing the world in gold.


	33. Epilogue

She stood on the top floor of the LexCorp tower. The building was destabilized but still considered safe. The tech team was still hard at work as she looked out over the destruction that the recent incident had caused. This could not happen again. It was likely that such occurrences would repeat itself, but they could not be so ill-prepared again.

She touched the comm in her ear, "Any luck?"

"We are cracking the door now, ma'am," said the voice on the other end. "We won't need to cut our way in after all."

She walked down the third secret passage they had found in Luthor's office, and not the last one they found. But this was the only one made of the same strange alloy that the LX Suit was made from, the odd substance that was so good at absorbing energy that not even sounds vibrations could pass through it.

The tech team was decrypting the electronic lock, one so complex that Luthor didn't bother preventing it from being brute forced. Or maybe there was no encrypted right answer and that is what Luthor intended in the first place; that no one without ready access to a quantum supercomputer could ever enter this room.

The door slid open, she was surprised to find that the room was mostly bare. There was only really three items in the room. One was a piece of what looked like a chunk of crystal, metallic silver with many columnar protuberances, the half torso sized formation under a dome of glass. The next was a cutting-edge, likely custom designed hard drive. The third and centrally located was a simple monitor display, showing odd, ever-changing graphical representations of information that likely only Luthor could decode.

"Report," she commanded as the tech team went over everything.

"The crystalline structure is atomically organic but inorganic in structure," said one of the techs, corresponding with multiple satellite think-tanks. "From what we can tell, it is organized down to the subatomic level, suggesting that it is both extraterrestrial and contains a massive amount of data."

"My guess," said a second tech, turning from her work at the hard drive, "is it is somewhere just over two hundred zebibytes of data."

"Explain," she said.

"Basically," the second tech said, "we are looking at a hard drive that is about a one hundred and seventy million times larger than anything we have ever been able to create anywhere else in the world. You could contain just under one hundred times the amount of data that is on the Internet in one of these, and from what we have scanned so far, this one seems to be filled with a single program. Given that the crystal was stationed next to the drive, I would have to say that this crystal and now this drive contain the same program."

"What is the program?" she asked.

"No idea," said the tech. "If you took all approximately one point three billion computers that are online, say about two gibibyte processing per second, even conservatively, we would be able to run a single cycle of this program once every six hours. It is impossible to figure out what this program is; we literally don't have the technology to do it yet."

"Fine," she said, waving them away. "What about the monitor?"

"We haven't figured that out yet, ma'am," said the tech overseeing it. "There has been only one comparison that we have been able to sort out so far."

He pointed to a specific shape, an irregular line that was vaguely spherical, that jumped and shrank in size over time, a sporadic wave, "This symbol seems to be keeping the pace and rhythm of a very slow heartbeat."

Her eyes widened, as she walked up to the monitor, and almost intuitively, pressed the symbol in the bottom right corner. The wall opened, revealing a column of glass, filled with a pinkish liquid. The girl was floating in it, her limbs folded fetal-like, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. Her pale hair fanned out around her head and her eyes were half open, though heavy-lidded, blue despite the color shift of the liquid.

Amanda Waller nodded, "Build a frame, using the same materials as this room, capable of sustaining all devices attached to that tube, within a day. This room is to be cleared and everything taken back to the Castle within the next forty-eight hours. You're on the clock, people. Let's make it happen."

As they set to work, she looked at the girl and smiled, "Checkmate."


End file.
